


A Study in Blood

by aroholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Twilight (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aro is a cuddly bastard, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Gen, John is hot for vampires, M/M, Suspense, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroholmes/pseuds/aroholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty has been murdered. As Sherlock and John search for clues, a mysterious series of deaths shocks London. Sherlock believes the victims are casualties of a gang war, but why are they always drained of blood? Can the powerful Volturi family provide Sherlock with the answers he needs to solve both cases?  Sherlock/Twilight AU cross-over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Locked Room

John had just started to feel like life were getting back to normal. Well, normal-ish. Normal if you were always doing completely abnormal things. Perhaps he should stop using the word normal.

It had become routine anyway, and no one was trying to kill them so that was a plus. Of course, Moriarty was still out there, still hating Sherlock, but John had gradually stopped looking over his shoulder, stopped waking up a cold sweat thinking he felt the red lights of a sniper's rifle on his chest.

The new case had seemed the usual thing. Interesting enough to get Sherlock out of the flat. A man had been found dead in an empty room in an empty building, the room had been locked from the inside and the murder discovered by some young people looking for a place to sleep for the night. Right, good, something for the blog definitely.

Except it wasn't usual, or normal, because the man lying on the floor in front of them was Moriarty.

"Suicide?" asked Lestrade in a despairing manner.

Sherlock practically snarled at him, "His neck is broken, who breaks their own neck?"

"People who commit suicide," replied Lestrade unphased.

Sherlock gestured around the room, "Where's the rope then? Or a necktie at least? Who hangs themselves and then neatly disposes of the means?!"

John was kneeling on the floor to examine the body. He reached out his gloved hand gingerly, telling himself over and over again that the man was dead. Moriarty wasn't going to harm them anymore. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath before finally touching the cold skin.

"He wasn't hanged," he said quietly, and the other two stopped talking to listen to him. Sherlock came over quickly and crouched next to John, looking intently at him for the answer.

"His neck was snapped," Sherlock prompted when John didn't immediately continue.

"There are no marks on his skin, whoever broke his neck didn't need to use a lot of force, not enough to bruise." John broke off, trying to imagine the strength that would take.

"I don't get it," said Lestrade. "Who sets up a locked room murder and doesn't even try to make it look like suicide? What's the point?"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," muttered Sherlock, pressing his palms together in front of his face and trying to focus his thoughts.

John stood and went back to Lestrade. From this vantage point in the room, Sherlock looked as though he were mourning over his fallen enemy.

"What about the writing?" whispered Lestrade to John.

"It's blood of course," said Sherlock, his voice deep and careful now. "Moriarty's blood."

"How do you know that?" asked John, surprised. "He's not bleeding anywhere."

"That's beside the point, it's a message, written in his blood, in fact the whole thing is a message."

John had already taken some pictures of the message, written in neat block letters on the floor in front of the body: "NOT HERE." The medium was obviously dried blood but it was also true there was no blood anywhere else in the room or on the body.

"A message for whom?" asked Lestrade, eyes widening. "You?"

"Of course not," said Sherlock, leaping to his feet in a single fluid movement, "if it were, I would understand it."  He glared at the body as though daring it to argue back.

* * *

 

"What am I looking at?" asked John. On the slab in front of him, Moriarty's body looked smaller than he remembered, almost sad, with all the seething, blazing life drained out of it.

Sherlock's gaze darted excitedly from the body to John and back again. "Don't you see?"

John rolled his eyes, "Obviously not. Enlighten me."

Sherlock jabbed his finger at Moriarty's right wrist.

"I don't get it."

"Look!"

Sighing, John leaned over and examined the wrist. It looked normal enough except for the small patch of unusually smooth skin over the pulse.

"A scar, maybe." he said, puzzled, it looked very strange.

"More than that!" Sherlock ran back to his equipment and stared excitedly through his microscope. "That new skin isn't the result of a wound being healed. He was cut, that's how the blood got on the floor, and then the wound was sealed, artificially!"

"With what?" John searched his memory for possible substances that could have been used.

"Venom!"

"Like snake venom?"

"Like no venom that exists," breathed Sherlock, and then actually hopped up and down in glee. John couldn't help but smile.

They were interrupted by Lestrade, and two other men, the appearance of whom made Sherlock immediately quiet down and look away pointedly, as though not wanting to be disturbed.

"John, Sherlock, these men are from Interpol, Agents Vladimir and Stefan. Gentleman, may I present John Watson and Sherlock Holmes."

John shook their hands politely. "Must be a bit nippy out there, eh?" He said to be friendly.

"What?" the taller, darker, of the two glared at him suspiciously.

John fidgeted, "Your hands are cold, the temperature must be dropping out there."

"Oh, right," the man eased back a little but his blonde companion, so pale that he was almost an albino, gave John a predatory look that made him back away to the other side of the slab.

The two men were making John feel downright creeped out now. There was definitely something off about them despite their flashy suits, and Sherlock wasn't helping, giving curt replies to Lestrade's queries and ignoring the newcomers altogether.

John breathed a sigh of relief when the three of them finally left.

"Why were you so rude to them, Sherlock?"

"Because they were the intended recipients of the message and I didn't feel like helping them."

"Interpol agents?"

"Of course they weren't Interpol agents, wrong suits, wrong shoes, wrong haircuts."

"Why didn't you warn Lestrade then?"

"They don't care about him." Sherlock was typing furiously into his laptop. "And another thing," he looked up suddenly and frowned.

"Yes?"

"They were pretending to breathe." Sherlock went back to typing.

"Sorry, what? How can someone pretend to breathe?"

"Oh all right," said Sherlock, exasperated. "Go ahead and split hairs. They were pretending to need to breath."

John debated questioning further, then shrugged and gave up. "Do you think they understood the message?"

"Yes. I don't think they were expecting it though."

"Oh, right, so an unexpected message from an anonymous source delivered through a locked room murder made not to look like a suicide complete with a message written inthe victim's blood, and the victim's only wound has been sealed with something that isn't snake venom. Good, yes, seems normal enough."


	2. Vampires of London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: non-graphic description of a murder scene.

The silence of the luxurious and spacious office was broken by the sound of voices in the hall. The doors opened and the three men entered laughing together.  Aro Volturi collapsed onto one of the antique sofas, chuckling gleefully.

"The look on his face…." Caius gasped, trying to catch his breath. He settled on the sofa, throwing his long legs over Aro's lap with the casual affection of a much loved younger brother.

"Why you must be a mind reader, Mr. Volturi," said Marcus, imitating a well-educated politician's smooth, rich tone of voice with eerie accuracy.

Aro covered his eyes, "Oh god, don't, you'll start me off again."

Caius deepened his voice to the same plummy depth, "Mr. Volturi, this must be the secret of your success. Can you predict the future as well?"

Aro threw his head back and laughed, a high, erratic, infectious sound that made Caius break off his impression, grinning.

"Aro…." the tense rasp of Marcus's voice interrupted them and they looked up, startled. He had been glancing out the wide office windows, opaque and black at this time of night.  Something about the way he was standing there now sent a current of fear through Aro's body.

"Marcus? What is it?" Aro stood and came to join his brother at the window, Caius following.

"There," said Marcus, his deep voice strained.

Aro, standing between his brothers, looked out into the darkness. His face filled with a kind of wondering terror, his eyes widened and his lips parted, but he did not speak.  Marcus appeared to be paralyzed with sadness.

"What is it?" demanded Caius, his own shock quickly turning to a white hot anger.

Aro collected himself, his jaw tightening. "It is a declaration of war," he said with soft menace.

Marcus abruptly turned from the window, calling out urgently, "Didyme, Didyme, where are you?!"

A young woman appeared in the doorway in a blur of motion. "I'm here, what's happened…?" Her voice became muffled as her husband caught her up and enclosed her in a protective embrace.

Caius moved away from the window, calling for whichever members of the guard were within hearing.

Aro looked out for a moment more, his expression stern and grim. Then he snapped the heavy brocade curtains shut, blocking out the night.

* * *

 A very tall boy with long brown hair wearing a posh school uniform.

A short girl with a lot of dark hair, skin-tight jeans and hoodie.

Another boy, long blond hair and expensive torn jeans.

The bodies were arranged casually on their backs in the grassy park, their eyes closed, as though the three victims had fallen asleep under the stars and never woken up. They were absurdly young to be dead, the girl no more than fifteen at the most, the two boys only a year or two older.

Sherlock stood back to let John examine the bodies first, taking careful note of everything with quick, identifying glances.

"According to the CCTV cameras, the bodies were placed here at 2:43 am," said Lestrade.

"No one brought them." said Sherlock. "Or at least, no one you could see."

"How the hell can you tell that?" asked Lestrade.

"You just said 'the bodies' as though they moved themselves. What else?"

"Nothing. At 25 seconds after 2:43, the park was empty. At 26 seconds after, there were the bodies."

"The cameras and film weren't tampered with," said Sherlock. It wasn't a question and Lestrade didn't answer. He was watching John who had finished his examination and was now just looking at the bodies with a withdrawn and troubled expression.

"They've been drained completely of blood, and there are no visible wounds, injuries, or even bruising," Sherlock's deep, acid voice cut through John's thoughts.

"Their necks aren't broken," said John, and put his hand over his mouth. Young victims always troubled him more than usual and there was something so calculated about the murder scene that he felt a little sick.

"Why do you say that?" asked Lestrade, puzzled.

"Blood missing, no wounds, same as Moriarty, keep up Lestrade, try not to be as dense as you usually are," said Sherlock, crouching down next to John. "But it's not the same, not the same at all. Different killers entirely." He pulled out his pocket magnifying glass and began taking darting, examining closer looks at the bodies. He paused at each, finding what he wanted, brushing his gloved fingers over an almost undetectable smooth patch on each victim's neck, just over their carotid artery.

"Sealed with venom," he whispered.

"Are you sure?" John asked, keeping his voice low.

Sherlock nodded, and stood up quickly. "It's another message," he announced. "Different writer, different audience, same conversation."

"You mean because these people were killed in a less brutal way?" asked John, rising to his feet.

"The opposite, Moriarty was killed instantly, these people were killed slowly, they were likely conscious for quite some time while their blood was drained. The first message was brief, virtually painless, designed to warn. This one is extensive, brutal, designed to invoke fear in its recipient."

"So these poor kids were involved with whoever killed Moriarty?" asked Lestrade.

"No, completely innocent bystanders. They didn't even know each other. They were killed in three different parts of London last night and brought here afterward." Sherlock pointed to each in turn, "Belgravia, Notting Hill, Highgate."

"There's nothing written in blood this time," said John, he was gazing at the bodies again, something at the back of his mind that he couldn't understand yet.

"That's because the message is written with the bodies themselves this time."

"They're so…." John broke off, uncertain.

"Young, vulnerable, lonely, dead?" Sherlock rattled off.

"Loved," said John automatically. He squinted at the bodies, trying to understand why that word was so definite in his mind.

"Yes…" breathed Sherlock, he gripped John's shoulder. "You've got it, you and your average mind. You can see it in their faces, their clothes, their appearance, all of them were beloved children, valued by their families….." Sherlock paused and then almost hissed, "Families, that's the message, 'we're going to kill your family'."

"What, so it's some kind of vendetta?" asked John.

"Even better, a war." said Sherlock firmly with the tone of excitement in his voice that always both thrilled and disturbed John. The excitement of the chase.

Sherlock turned away from the bodies, eagerly scanning the surrounding buildings in a predatory sort of way. "Moriarty was hidden in such a way that I would deliver the message, he was specifically prepared for me to act as go-between, an act of distancing from the sender to the receiver. This message is much more direct, it was placed here in this precise place at that precise time last night for the intended recipient to see immediately. Now who would that be? There!" He pointed to a building directly across from the park, a stately old edifice turned into an upscale office building.

"You're saying someone looked out one of those windows last night and saw this?" Lestrade asked incredulously. "But it's too far away, and the park wasn't well lit, you probably couldn't see anything from that distance at night."

Sherlock whirled on Lestrade, his long coat sweeping around him. "Show me the CCTV footage," he said, breathless and eager.

Not for the first time, John hoped fervently that Sherlock would reach the end of the puzzle before anyone else had to die.


	3. Secrets and Lies

"Again," said Sherlock sharply.

The police sergeant rewound the CCTV footage half a second and replayed. John felt as though he were watching an elaborate magic trick. One moment the park was empty, the next moment three bodies lay on the ground. Empty. Bodies. Empty. Bodies. They must have watched it a hundred times now.

"Let it keep going," Sherlock leaned forward, staring intently at the grainy image on the screen.

A minute or so further in, he abruptly reached over the sergeant's shoulder and froze the screen himself.

"There."

John and Lestrade leaned in, squinting. Sherlock's finger hovered just below a faint pinprick of light. An open window in the office building Sherlock had pointed out.

Sherlock tapped a key and the film continued. John watched with his face inches from the screen, feeling like the impending victim of a practical joke on Youtube.

"There!" Sherlock cried in triumph, freezing the screen again.

"What am I supposed to have just seen?"

Sherlock groaned in annoyance. "Look!" he pointed again. And John saw it, the spot of light from the window had disappeared. Someone had closed the curtains.

"That's it?" John asked in disbelief.

"That building is owned by an investment bank, the Volturi Group," said Lestrade.

"Isn't that run by an Italian family?" asked John. "Is this some kind of mob thing then?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Don't be absurd," he said dismissively. "They make their money the old fashioned way, by ruthlessly exploiting financial markets." He swung around on Lestrade. "You can check the CCTV footage of the building if you want to. Someone looked out that window at precisely the moment it was assumed that they would, and they didn't like what they saw. Not at all."

* * *

At the Volturi Group offices, Sherlock managed to talk a front desk receptionist into letting them upstairs to see the management.

A secretary so sleek and sophisticated that she might as well have been gilded in gold met them when they stepped off the elevator.

"You are with the police?" she asked politely but disbelievingly.

A man in a pinstriped suit was lounging nearby reading his smartphone and ignoring them, but John got the distinct impression he would personally throw them out the window if they did anything suspicious.

"I'm a consulting detective with the police and this is my assistant," Sherlock responded smoothly. "We need to speak with your employers on urgent police business."

"Do you have a card? No? Please wait." She disappeared behind an ornate set of double doors, presumably leading into the inner offices.

They were kept waiting a good twenty minutes. Sherlock went into one of his thinking spells, staring off into space and rotating his phone over and over. John amused himself looking around at all the 18th century (17th century?) paintings on the walls and then resorted to drumming his fingers on the expensive antechamber chair arm.

A clicking of stiletto heels woke Sherlock from his trance and they stood up expectantly. The secretary carefully opened the double doors and stepped through, followed by a man dressed in an elegant slim-fitting black suit. Judging from the secretary's smugly deferential attitude, this was actually a member of the Volturi family, not simply a supervising manager.

The man approached them with enthusiastic geniality, his hands outstretched in greeting. "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson! You have no idea what a pleasure this is, I am such a fan of yours!" He reached out and enfolded John's nearest hand in both of his cool, slender hands. "I'm Aro Volturi, welcome, welcome, what a lovely surprise!"

John smiled back warmly. He wasn't attracted to men very often, not enough to personally consider himself actually bisexual, but when he was, his crushes always had one thing in common - being completely, ridiculously out of his league.

Aro Volturi was no exception. Besides being the head of a powerful Italian financial family, and from what John understood, a major stakeholder in the British economy, he was absolutely, uniquely, gorgeous. Large dark eyes, long sleek black hair neatly pulled back from his face, a lovely nose, dazzling smile, trim attractive figure. John felt like an idiot just being in the same room with him. He also felt overwhelmingly happy, but that was because he was an idiot.

Aro's smile deepened, he pressed John's hand and released it, turning to greet Sherlock. Sherlock, who had been watching Aro and John with narrowed eyes, put his hands behind him and kept them there.

"Please forgive my dis-courteousness," he said apologetically when Aro held out his hands, "I'm afraid I'm a little contagious at the moment." He sniffed as though in explanation. John looked at him sharply but kept quiet.

"Of course, I completely understand," said Aro graciously. He clasped his hands together. "Now, how may I be of service to you?"

"We're consulting with the police on the triple murder which occurred in the neighborhood last night."

Aro's wide smile shifted to a look of deep concern. "Yes, I heard about that. What a terrible waste. We were all very saddened by the news. Do you have any leads?"

Sherlock smiled faintly, "We're working on a few. It's such a pity, you must be too far away from the park to have seen anything."

"Oh yes, my brothers and I were actually looking out the window at one point last night and of course we couldn't see anything past the street lights. The park is not well lit as you know. I've always felt it was a bit of a safety risk for the community." He sighed and shrugged a little as if to say, 'well, too late now.'

John looked at Sherlock for his reaction and saw that his friend had the slightly pompous expression he assumed when talking to an amusing lier.

The double doors opened again, revealing a young man in a shiny grey suit and shoulder-length white blond hair, who glared at the visitors and then walked forward to Aro. He looked about nineteen, but didn't seem to be displaying the usual deference an entry-level employee would have.

"Ahh," said Aro pleasantly, "Gentleman, may I introduce my brother Caius."

John looked back and forth between Aro and Caius, tried to find a family resemblance, and failed completely, except perhaps in how pale they were.

Caius nodded curtly to John and Sherlock, then pointedly turned his back on them to whisper in Aro's ear. Aro nodded, pressed Caius' shoulder briefly, and folded his hands apologetically.

"I am so sorry, but I have some rather urgent business to attend to. If you have any further questions, please let Gianna know." He waved the secretary forward, gave them another dazzling smile, and left the room with his brother. Leaving Sherlock looking intently after them and John inwardly reminding himself that getting a crush on someone you had only known for a couple of minutes was perhaps the stupidest thing he could think of.

* * *

Outside, Sherlock crossed the street to the park, trailed thoughtfully by John. Empty now of both victims and police, the area looked peaceful, even idyllic. Sherlock stopped in the middle of the former crime scene and gazed at the ground fixedly. John could almost hear his brain whirring.

"Those two fake Interpol agents," John finally said, breaking the silence. "You thought they were the recipients of the Moriarty message, do you think they killed those teenagers?"

Sherlock raised his head, tilting it back to look up at the sky. "Or someone who works for them."

"Then shouldn't you tell Lestrade?!" asked John exasperated.

"He won't be able to find them again."

"He could at least try!"

Sherlock turned around, his voice low and precise. "Lestrade won't be able to find them again because they're dead."

"What? When? How do you know this?"

"They were already dead when we met them."

"What?!"

"You were there. Very pale skin, cold hands. They had no pulse, probably don't have blood as we know it. That would explain how pale they are. Now if you hadn't been swooning over Aro Volturi like a love-sick schoolgirl, you would have also noticed a certain resemblance."

Of course. John slumped a little. "His hands were cold, he and his brother, their skin was almost completely white. What are you saying, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at John thoughtfully, wondering if his mind could comprehend what he was about to say. "John, I don't believe in the supernatural, but it's entirely possible that this planet might contain at least one other highly intelligent form of life. That, for the most part, prefers to keep its existence a secret…."

Something that John hadn't understood came back to him. "Why wouldn't you shake his hand?"

"Because when he touched you, he knew everything about you."

"Like the way you figure everything out about a person just by looking them?"

"No, I deduce information. He knew. Everything."

John shivered, then flushed with embarrassment. Sherlock's mouth quirked in amusement. He patted John on the back. "Yes, everything."


	4. Threats and Accusations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: non-graphic description of a crime scene.

They ended up back at the flat. Sherlock sitting on the sofa with his palms pressed together under his chin, thinking in silence. John looking out the window at the street below.

Everything seemed so normal. Everyone going about their business as usual. Cabs, cars, people walking, the air and the grey overcast sky, the buildings and the pavement and the road. All just the same as before. So why did John feel as though he were looking at a completely different world altogether?

Another species. Human and yet not human. Alive and dead at the same time.

And the venom sealing the wounds on the victims' arteries, what the hell was it with the venom? And the blood, drained from the bodies, Moriarty and those poor kids. Who does that? Who the hell does that?

What does that?

"Oh god," whispered John. He felt suddenly drained of energy as an almost paralyzing fear swept over him.

"Yes," said Sherlock. "I've come to much the same conclusion. Although I'm sure with less lurid imagery than you're thinking of right now."

John turned away from the window with an expression of shock. "But they don't exist!"

"They do exist, you should know. You've seen them, talked to them, touched them." Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at John. "Even fancied them."

"Shut up." John heaved a deep breath. God, his heart was going full speed. "Vampires?!"

"That would be the common name for them."

"Why aren't we panicking?"

"Because we're still alive."

"How is that even an answer?!"

"Oh stop being so melodramatic." Sherlock got up and started pacing.

John gesticulated wildly. "You're saying vampires exist and I'm being melodramatic?!"

"They're fighting their own turf war over London, we're not important enough to worry about," said Sherlock. "Or we'd already have been silenced."

"You're saying they know we know? Already?"

"If they know my reputation then they knew I was bound to put it together. But it was a calculated risk, they wanted me involved. I'm always dealing with strange crimes and we've had a run-in with Moriarty already, that's why the first message was set up to look like a locked room murder. I would get called in, not be able to solve it, something would get in the press, our two friends who aren't from Interpol would find out but there wouldn't be too much scrutiny because it's just another bizarre case associated with Sherlock Holmes. Want to hide something strange? Hide it in plain sight. On your blog, for instance."

"Hold on, what about my blog?"

"You post cases I can't solve on your blog, to make me sound more 'human'. Blogging about Moriarty's murder blended right in. Made it look almost ordinary."

"Well I wouldn't go that far." John was beginning to calm down now, he always felt a bit better when Sherlock left off his long thinking silences and became vocal again. "So the men who aren't from Interpol heard about the murder and came to see for themselves at the morgue. Message received."

"Exactly. And what did they get? A warning to leave London. A warning they evidently opted not to take." Sherlock pressed his hands against his head. "Think, think, it's more than that. Why did Moriarty have to die? Was he helping the recipients of the message? Was he important to them? Their contact in London?"

"Wait, you said the second message was meant for the Volturi group….so the Volturi family killed Moriarty and used us to help deliver the message?"

"Oh god you're slow! Yes, of course. Because Aro Volturi is such a huge fan of your blog."

John couldn't help feeling a little pleased at the thought. Then shook the feeling off as being completely inappropriate considering the circumstances.

"We have to warn people, Sherlock."

"That's the last thing we should do."

"But if this is a turf war, aren't there going to be more victims? People need to be alert, protect themselves. We should bring the army in…."

"Listen to me, John, listen very carefully," interrupted Sherlock, turning sharply on John and towering over him. "If we notify any of the authorities, they will know, and many more people will die as a result, because they will do anything to remain hidden."

John looked defiantly back at Sherlock's intense expression. "So we just sit tight and do nothing? While blood-sucking monsters kill innocent civilians?"

"Of course not," said Sherlock, and John could hear the barely-restrained excitement in his voice. "We offer our assistance in ending this conflict."

"Help the vampires?" John asked incredulously.

"Help the Volturi. They're the peacekeepers here, obviously."

"Well they're not doing a very good job of it so far."

"That's because they don't know what they're fighting against yet."

"And you do?"

"I have absolutely no idea." Sherlock grinned suddenly, enthusiasm overcoming his desire to appear cool and above it all. "It's a complete mystery!"

They quieted suddenly, hearing footsteps racing up the stairs, then relaxed when Lestrade entered, out of breath.

"There's been another one," he said. "Same method."

Sherlock and John exchanged glances. One excited, the other anxious and just a little reproachful.

* * *

The woman had been beautiful, in a sharp, almost dangerous way. The body was slumped on the floor and propped up against one of the ornate sofas in the elegant and pristine townhouse sitting room.

Broken neck. The body drained of blood but no visible wound until Sherlock leaned in and twitched aside the woman's collar to reveal the small incision in her neck, now smoothed over with that same strange seal of venom.

Sherlock stepped back, his eyes flickering over the scene.

"It's bad enough about the kids," said Lestrade. "It's all over the press now, you know. Everyone's demanding answers, and just when I'm trying to provide them, this happens. By the way," he turned to Sherlock. "What about the Volturi Group? Did you get anywhere with them?"

"Dead end," Sherlock said shortly.

John suppressed a small grin.

"Don't giggle, it's a crime scene," murmured Sherlock.

"Her name is Irene Adler," said Lestrade. "Professional dominatrix, would you believe?"

"No surprise there," said Sherlock caustically. "Everything about this place screams power play." He scrutinized the victim's face, then stood up and looked behind him.

"What is it?" asked John.

"She was looking at something before she died, something important to her that was about to be taken away." Sherlock moved towards the mantlepiece carefully. "Allowing for the angle of her neck, it should be right…here." He placed both hands under the mantlepiece and pressed. The ornate mirror above it slid upward to reveal a hidden safe. Sherlock leaned in and examined the keypad, then froze.

"Sherlock?" John came closer.

Sherlock let out his breath in a long sigh. "Interesting."

He reached out and carefully lifted the front of the safe off the wall. It came away cleanly. John could see the breakage line on the safe front and how it had rested together with the safe itself, so finely and gently broken that the whole thing had remained practically intact.

"What the hell?" exclaimed Lestrade.

John stared, breathing hard. He could tell right away that the safe hadn't been cut into, it had been snapped apart. Like Irene Adler's neck.

Sherlock placed the piece on the floor and then felt around the inside of the safe. "Clean," he said. "They took what they came for."

"And what did they come for?" asked Lestrade.

"No idea," said Sherlock, stripping off his gloves. "Come on," he motioned to John.

"That's it?" exclaimed Lestrade, hurrying after them as they left the room. "Don't you have any theories?"

"Not yet," said Sherlock. "We'll be in touch."

"What? John?" Lestrade appealed as they reached the front steps of the townhouse.

"I'm sorry," John said apologetically, "he's, well, you know." Then he had to run to catch up with Sherlock's long strides.

"What did this message mean?"

"Nothing, it wasn't a message."

"But, the blood loss..."

"It's a murder plain and simple, designed to blend in with other recent activities. It was made to look like the same method as the teenagers but the killer couldn't quite bring himself to attain that same level of cruelty, hence the broken neck administered before the blood was removed."

"You mean, like Moriarty?"

"Precisely, it's undoubtedly your boyfriend's handiwork again."

"Sherlock, could you not...keep doing that?"

"Sorry, couldn't resist." Sherlock grinned and John glared at him.

Just then Sherlock's phone chirruped and he pulled it out. "Text from Lestrade," he said, and then stopped suddenly.

"What?"

"We need to go to the morgue. Apparently the death of Irene Adler did send a message after all. There's already been a reply."

* * *

Molly Hooper pulled the sheet back carefully, revealing the head and shoulders of a young woman with disheveled hair and streaked makeup. It took John a moment to recognize the polished and sophisticated executive secretary of the Volturi Group.

"It's Gianna…." he said. "But we just saw her earlier today. What happened?"

"Yes, well, she's lost quite a lot of blood," said Molly. "And then someone put her on one of the lions around Nelson's Column. Um, over the paws." She imitated the lion's pose, arms outstretched.

Sherlock said nothing, bending over the body with his pocket magnifying glass to examine the patch of sealed up skin on the woman's neck. He sighed and straightened, resting his hands on the edges of the slab.

"This is getting tedious," he said.

"What does it mean?" asked John.

"That they're very, very annoying people who don't know what they've got so they're making a big show of nothing. If they actually had something, they'd get on with it but instead we get these silly melodramatic spectacles."

They all looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching and Lestrade entered with a dark-haired man in an elegant black suit and overcoat.

John swallowed hard and moved around to the opposite side of the slab.

Aro Volturi.

"Mr. Volturi is here to identify the victim," said Lestrade.

Aro nodded to John and Sherlock who stood back politely. He looked gravely serious, not at all like their genial host of the morning. He walked up to the slab somberly. Both Sherlock and John noticed his right hand brush across Molly's hand as he stepped past her. Sherlock hissed a little, as though restraining himself from warning Molly.

"No damage to the body, as you can see," said Lestrade.

"Yes," said Aro quietly. "This is indeed Gianna Lombardi. My secretary." He leaned over the body and stroked the mussed hair gently. "Poor child," he said sadly and regretfully.

"Thank you, Mr. Volturi, I'm sorry for your loss," said Lestrade. His mobile started ringing and he turned away to answer it.

Molly drew the sheet back over the body and fiddled about with her equipment, hoping to catch Sherlock's attention, but he appeared distracted, putting on his coat and drawing up the collar.

Aro looked up and gave John a small, unsettlingly beautiful smile. John shivered but didn't look away, in the same manner that he would have faced down a gun pointed at his head. He forced himself to keep watching as Aro turned to walk in the direction of the doors. Sherlock moved quickly after him, catching up with him and partially blocking his path.

"Don't you think," said Sherlock in a low voice, "that this has gone on long enough?"

Aro gazed at him in silence, motionless, and Sherlock looked back with narrowed eyes. John hovered close behind Sherlock, watching the two of them size up each other's intentions, each in their own way.

"Yes," said Aro finally. "Come, I'll buy you a drink."

Sherlock smiled, the thin smile he always had when he was getting his own way.

Lestrade looked up from his phone call and gave John a questioning look. John shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in response, then followed Sherlock and Aro out of the room.

Obviously it was going to be a long night.


	5. Mind Games and Cabs

John walked out of the morgue and got pulled into, well, it was all a bit of a blur actually. He had a vague impression of Sherlock grabbing his arm and half dragging him down the hospital corridor towards the exit, and then something just seemed to carry them forward at an impossible speed. After that there was a brief glimpse of the darkening outdoors, a drizzling chill rain starting to fall, and Aro Volturi's pale face turned towards him for an instant.

Then he was shoved into a black car that had pulled up in front of them dangerously close and the door slammed after him while Aro called to someone named Felix to drive on. John had to brace himself to keep from being flung forward as he fell into the now all too familiar experience of riding in the back of a car that was going much, much too fast.

John pressed his face to the glass of the car window to look back at the swiftly vanishing hospital. He expected to see a gang of pursuers but instead he saw only two small figures as the car sped away, a boy and a girl in school uniforms and hoodies, their faces obscured, hunching their shoulders against the thickening rain.

"My apologies for the quick exit, I'm afraid someone is being annoyingly adventitious today," said a soft, full voice from the seat next to John, making him jump a little.

He turned to see that he was sitting next to Aro who was regarding him with a look of gentle concern. John's heartbeat sped up as he took in their proximity to each other, the fact that Aro continued to be the most attractive person he'd ever met, and that in this instance, he should really start mentally substituting 'blood-drinking demon' for person.

Sherlock lounged across the opposite seat, legs crossed and arms leisurely resting across the seat back. He was looking cool and bright-eyed. Obviously enjoying himself, the bastard, John thought bitterly, this must be so completely and utterly non-boring for him.

The car was moving more slowly now, entering the crowded main streets. Moisture streaked the windows, blurring the lights of buildings as they passed.

"Sorry," said John, looking at Aro again, "where exactly are you taking us now?"

"To a safe location where we can talk. Meanwhile we're securing your flat so you can return there tonight."

"Oh, right, that's very reassuring," said John. "So how much danger are we in exactly?"

"Ah, quite a lot more than about ten minutes ago. Since you've been seen in my company...well, I'm afraid there's no help for that now."

"Right, good, that's just, perfect."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Sherlock murmured teasingly.

John's expression of apprehension only deepened.

It hurt Sherlock just a little to see his friend in distress. He had no trouble understanding that John sometimes had to endure some inevitable cruelty at the hands of his best friend, such as allowing himself to be led into a den of very dangerous people who had already killed that day, who would most certainly kill again while the two friends were in their company.

For someone like John, who only rushed into danger to protect, to rescue, to heal the wounded, to bury the dead, the present moment was not as pleasurable as it was for Sherlock. It wasn't filling him with the same ostentatious, skittering excitement that laughed at its own power.

"You have my word that we will make every effort to see that you remain safe from harm," Aro said reassuringly, with such sincerity that John couldn't help but believe him.

"Oh? Just like you kept Gianna Lombardi safe from harm?" asked Sherlock mockingly. "Tch, tch, you have been careless."

Aro said nothing, only looked sadly down at his hands with a slightly defeated expression. In the dim light of the car's interior, he appeared younger and more vulnerable than John would have thought possible a moment before.

"Sherlock," warned John quietly, his expression pleading with his friend to back off.

"Gianna was a trusted and valued employee. I regret her death more than I can say," said Aro in a low voice.

Sherlock was perhaps enjoying himself a little too much now. "Shall we drop the formalities of secrecy now? Vampire?" he said knowingly, drawing out the last word in a low hiss.

Aro raised his beautiful face with its large, mesmerizing eyes slowly towards Sherlock, as though he could freeze him with a look.

Sherlock smiled, pleased with the reaction.

John looked back and forth between the two of them, bracing himself for some kind of burst of violence, his own breathing starting to quicken in anticipation.

Sherlock's expression of mocking interrogatory inquiry intensified. "Gianna Lombardi was only one of your many human employees, how many you must have had over the centuries, just ephemera for your lot. So why does this one small death bother you so much? Is it because your defenses were breached, they got too close to home? Or is it because you miscalculated, got too complacent, got too soft after all these years of power?"

Aro gazed at Sherlock with a passive expression that seemed all the more dangerous in contrast to Sherlock's blazing superiority.

"We don't want any trouble," John said quickly, to both of them really. "We just want to help. No one else has to get hurt, do they Sherlock?"

"Do they," Sherlock repeated, giving Aro a considering look. But it was not a question.

"It depends on whether you understand the full magnitude of the situation."

"Well let's recap, shall we? Your species has been around for thousands of years yet you're a secret society. A species that feeds on human blood must have something extremely powerful keeping them in check or deaths like the ones London has experienced today would happen more frequently. That's where your family comes in. The law-makers, the law-enforcers, judge, jury, and executioners. How am I doing so far?" Sherlock brought his rapid speech to an end with a click of his teeth and waited with smug triumph.

"Close enough to get you killed under different circumstances," said Aro in his low voice.

Sherlock leaned forward with eager intensity, enunciating his words carefully as his speech became more and more rapid. "You like luxury but you wear it lightly, so you must have originated from a time period and location when high status didn't translate into rampant commercialism. Roman Republic, most likely, before the descent into empire. That's where you got the idea to keep vampires under control, isn't it? Nothing destroys a society quite like prosperity. Your species could have created an empire and then crashed and burned like the rest of them, but no, you've kept things small, kept them well ordered. But it's so very difficult, isn't it? You have to be relentlessly brutal to keep everyone in line. You've made a few enemies along the way, the younger ones are no trouble, everyone's too scared of you now to put up much of a resistance, but the older ones, oh, that's the problem. These particular enemies, they're not as sophisticated as your family, more of a taste of the gaudy, rougher around the edges, probably older than you chronologically so obviously your family unseated them, probably over a fundamental disagreement. That little display they arranged for you this afternoon, the bloodless maiden draped over the lion's arms? They were building an empire and you stopped them. They don't just want to be on top though, do they? They want to utterly and completely obliterate everything you have, piece by piece, while they make you watch."

"The Romanii," said Aro, drawing out the syllables as though it hurt him to say it. The street lights flickered for a moment over his face, making it appear almost iridescent, then he was plunged into half-darkness again. "They made a mistake once, when the world was young, and I exploited it ruthlessly. Since then, they've thought of nothing but regaining their throne. They tried once before a few hundred years ago but by then I had acquired a...valuable asset. It wasn't until Moriarty revealed himself in order to challenge you that they were able to gain an asset of their own strong enough to potentially destroy us."

Sherlock's voice turned hard and deep. "Why did Moriarty have to die?"

"Because he was annoying," said Aro without expression, still holding Sherlock's gaze with his own.

John smiled in spite of himself.

"And Irene Adler?"

Aro sighed and leaned back in his seat, pressing his fingers to his eyes wearily. "She didn't have to die, but it was necessary nevertheless."

"Because she wanted to become one of you. Yes, what could be more desirable for a dominatrix than total dominance over humanity?"

"We don't allow humans with knowledge of our species and that kind of wish for power to join us," said Aro. "She had to be stopped, but this was incidental. We only came for the resource Moriarty had entrusted to her when he realized we were coming for him."

"How did you get her to tell you where it was?" asked Sherlock. "But oh, I forgot, you didn't need her to. All you had to do was touch her. How does it work? A one-way neural linkup via skin to skin contact? But you didn't read Moriarty and he was actually the threat to your family." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, searching Aro's face for answers. "Why? Had he already been murdered when you got to him?" Sherlock breathed out slowly as realization set in. "No. He already knew how to block you. He's still blocking you and he's dead. How embarrassing."

"Sherlock, do you think you could stop baiting the vampire?" John asked tensely.

"It appears Moriarty had some kind of natural neural shield. I couldn't see anything in his mind," said Aro quietly. "We think this is why the Romanii hired him, in addition to his brilliance and willingness to sell out his own species. When it was obvious he would give us nothing of value through other means of persuasion, the best course of action at the time was to terminate him and hope that the danger he posed to my family would die with him."

"That was quite an underestimation," Sherlock's voice bit coldly through Aro's soft words.

Aro tilted his head and looked at Sherlock without expression for a long moment. Then suddenly, he laughed, the erratic sound of which made John flinch and reach for the door handle without thinking.

Something changed between Aro and Sherlock that John couldn't understand at first. Sherlock looked completely off-guard and was trying to regain his composure quickly.

Aro smiled at him with exaggerated sweetness. "A criticism spoken by someone who once severely underestimated Moriarty himself. And, in so doing, very nearly lost the one person who matters most to him in the world."

Sherlock's expression shifted suddenly into anger. "Shut up," he said.

John looked at him interestedly. "Is that true, Sherlock? Am I….?"

Sherlock scowled darkly and looked out his window.

John turned to Aro. "How did…? Did you just read him while I wasn't looking?"

"I didn't need to," said Aro happily. "I just spent the past few months reading everyone he knows. Isn't that right, Captain Blackdawn?"

Sherlock winced and shook his head.

"Captain Blackdawn?" asked John, confused.

Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "My pirate name."

"Your pirate name?"

Sherlock groaned in exasperation. "I wanted to be a pirate I was a small child, before I started taking cases. Mycroft is the only other person who would know that. My dear brother always did know how to meet the right people…."

John looked over at Aro uncertainly and Aro grinned back, gleeful.

* * *

In the private lounge of an upscale London nightclub, Caius Volturi's phone chimed a text alert. He lifted it from the side table next to him, while accepting the full wine glass his brother Marcus was holding out to him.

**bringing fox, hedgehog.**

**order scotch.**

**hugs/cuddles,**

**AV**

Caius raised his eyebrows and glared at his phone with the aggrieved expression of an angry cartoon steam engine.

"Something wrong?" asked Marcus, looming over him.

"Aro's on his way." Caius said shortly, and looking across at the young woman with the pixie haircut seated opposite, added, "It appears your prediction was true, Alice. He's bringing the two human detectives after all."

Alice clapped her hands excitedly. "I knew it!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

"Aro knows what he's doing," said Didyme reassuringly, settling herself into the crook of her husband's arm when he seated himself next to her.

"That doesn't stop him from doing completely insane things," said Caius, making Marcus chuckle. He glared at his phone again and typed a reply one-handed.

**be careful.**

**you idiotic fool.**

**CV**

He did not need Alice's talent for foresight to know that Aro's reaction to the text would be to smile fondly and then completely ignore its advice.


	6. The Problem of Moriarty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice by this point that the vampires are arranged differently in this AU. Besides Didyme being alive, Alice is a Volturi, and the twins...well, you'll see in a bit.

\- 48 hours earlier -

Aro occupied his place in the room so lightly that he was almost invisible. Hands at his side for once, head tilted a little, his expression gently neutral, lips parted as though viewing an unusual occurrence that was not yet worthy of comment. An odd demeanor for someone who was the current object of such wild hatred.

Felix held the man in front of Aro without effort, even as Moriarty writhed and struggled in his grasp. One of the vampire's large hands tilted Moriarty's chin upwards while the other held both hands twisted behind his back. Moriarty struggled once more and then panted for breath, glaring at Aro with a mixture of fiery indignation and unmasked disgust.

"You might still save yourself, if you tried," Aro said in a voice that was even softer and quieter than usual.

This elicited another violent struggle and then Moriarty laughed, choking a little, and spat blood.

"As if you'd let me live after all this," he said with some effort, still darkly amused. "Don't insult me now, Aro, not when we've come to know each other so well."

"Tell me what you've already given the Romanii, and we can discuss your options."

Moriarty snarled and made a completely ineffectual lunge forward, managing only to tighten Felix's grip on him.

Aro folded his hands and sighed.

"Then I am afraid that you can not be allowed to continue."

"Neither will you. I've made sure of that. I'll burn you, I'll burn you all!" Moriarty's voice rose to a scream.

Aro's expression became so neutral as to be almost blank. His eyes slid upwards to meet Felix's expectant gaze.

* * *

\- The present -

"I'll burn you all." Aro's soft voice slid through the car's silence like the rain that streaked the windows, gleaming with color after color from the passing street and shop lights.

Sherlock looked at him sharply. "Sorry?"

"It's what Moriarty said just before he died."

Sherlock squinted at him in a considering way.

"Well," said John, "sounds like he was pretty angry at the time."

"Justifiably so," said Sherlock caustically, "since his neck was being broken at the time."

"Yes," said Aro without emphasis, remembering. He looked out his window. "Ah, here we are."

John ducked his head to stare out Aro's window in disbelief as they pulled up alongside the curb..

"A nightclub? You've taken us to a nightclub? This is your idea of a good place for a secret chat?"

Aro chuckled, "Why not? You haven't had a night out in ages."

John glared at him a little belligerently.

"No, sorry," Aro raised his hands in surrender. "I promise not to bring up any more information about you that I've obtained through illicit means."

Again, the unsettlingly beautiful smile.

John's heart did something that was not entirely pleasant.

"Er, thanks…" he said.

"Hurry up, John," Sherlock had already sprung out of the car and was leaning back in impatiently.

"Right, yes," said John, still caught by Aro's bright, overly interested gaze. "On my way." He managed to get his door open and got out onto the pavement a little shakily. He took in the street, out of the common way a little, some fashionably-dressed clubgoers already queuing up outside despite the early hour.

Aro got out and opened the front passenger side of the car without ceremony. He stepped back and held out his hand a little commandingly.

"Renata."

A small girl, who looked to be no older than fifteen, got out quickly, neat and streamlined in a leather and wool suit, and placed her hand on Aro's. He placed his other hand on top of hers and concentrated. He took in all that she had to offer from the recent encounter outside the morgue, an unexpected ambush sensed just in time, a quick retreat coordinated, an unavoidable confrontation, two attacking mental abilities shattering like glass across the immaculate shield of Renata's talent.

_I almost failed you, Master…._

Aro released the little vampire's hand and caressed her face reassuringly. "You performed admirably, Renata," he said, low enough that only she could hear. "Please do not fault yourself. You did all that you could."

Renata bowed her head and nodded but her traitorous self-doubts continued to speak under his fingers.

Aro drew back and turned to the large man, huge actually, with the face of a heavyweight prizefighter, who had come around from the driver's side.

"Felix, you'll be taking these gentlemen home at the end of the evening."

Felix nodded and glanced over at Renata who raised her head a little, uncertain.

"You too, Renata." Aro held out his hand again to include her. "I want both of you to guard them and their dwelling until further notice. Check in with Demetri to make sure he has finished his preparations."

"Yes sir." Both bowed their heads and then waited watchfully, like any ordinary security detail.

"Now, about that drink I promised you," Aro said, wheeling on his waiting guests and switching back to gracious geniality in an instant.

Walking into a nightclub with Aro was even more of a surreal experience than John could have anticipated. Aro was being completely, inappropriately, aggravatingly cheerful. He led them past the queue of clubgoers waiting to enter as though he owned the place, which as it happens he did, nodding pleasantly to the bouncers who rushed to let his party through, and moving through the darkly illuminated club with a jaunty, eager stride. The early-comers inside parted automatically to let him pass, excited by his presence though unsure which celebrity was in their midst, and the DJ saluted him, switching up the music to a more stylish electronic beat.

"Well this is different," John muttered to Sherlock. "Usually I just have a drink down at the pub when I have a night out." Sherlock quirked a smile but didn't reply.

Aro clasped his hands and smiled widely when he saw Caius waiting for them at the entrance to the partially secluded lounge and glowering to cover his own relief at his brother's return.

"You made it then?" Caius inquired with caustic politeness when they arrived. Aro slipped his hand into his brother's, interlacing their fingers.

_Anyone could have identified Gianna's body, why you had to risk your own skin…. You idiot. If anything had happened to you…._

Aro squeezed Caius's hand and released it. "I'm fine, brother," he murmured, brushing Caius's white blond hair back from his face.

Caius looked anything but reassured. His ice cold glare transferred to Aro's human companions.

"We meet again," said Sherlock, managing to make the comment into a sardonic dig.

Caius smiled at him in a manner that suggested the many elaborate and disturbing things he might like to do to Sherlock if Aro wasn't present. Sherlock smiled back, loving the challenge. As unobtrusively as possible, John took hold of his friend's coat and tugged him back a few steps.

"Not now, children," Aro murmured, and ushered them all into the lounge area with outstretched hands.

"Aro!" Alice jumped up at their entry and threw herself into Aro's arms. "You did it! This is going to be so great!" Aro laughed and lifted her off her feet, twirling her around.

Aro grinned when he saw John's uncomfortable reaction. He kept an arm around Alice's shoulder and turned her to face his guests. "John, Sherlock, this is my daughter Alice. Like me, she's also an avid follower of your blog."

Alice laughed delightedly. "Ha! It's really you, you're both so much taller in person."

"Er, thanks," said John, uncertainly.

Marcus unfolded himself from one of the lounge's circular sofas and came forward to greet them, inclining his head with a warm smile to the guests.

Aro seized his arm happily. "This is my other brother, Marcus."

"It's good of you to join us," said Marcus in his pleasant rasping voice. "Please, make yourselves comfortable." He gestured towards another of the sofas and resumed his seat.

Sherlock sat down, crossing his legs and giving the present company an all-encompassing scrutinizing glance with the sardonic tuck of his eyebrows that suggested they were none of them to be trusted. John settled himself near him, ready at any moment to deflect another of Sherlock's digs at possibly the most dangerous people John had ever met.

"And of course my little sister Didyme," said Aro affectionately, indicating the young woman seated next to Marcus.

She smiled and gave them a cheerful little wave, a slim teenager with thick eyebrows and a pretty face. John was surprised to find that Aro's sister actually looked a bit like him, the same large eyes and internal gracefulness.

Aro tossed his overcoat lightly across the nearest seat and pouncing on the drinks table, poured glasses of scotch for the two detectives.

No one else was drinking and a thought occurred to John that made him shiver. "Um, is anyone in the club...on the menu tonight?" he asked nervously.

Aro paused in front of them, a glass in each hand, but before he could speak, Caius cut in sarcastically.

"Why, are you hungry?"

Aro suppressed a laugh and handed a glass to Sherlock. "Rest assured, everyone here tonight is perfectly safe."

Sherlock automatically put his drink on the coffee table in front of him. He never drank during cases and didn't feel the need to be polite about it.

John took his glass gingerly, trying to avoid touching Aro's fingers. Aro hesitated with the glass still in his hand and John looked up at him, suddenly afraid the contact was going to be demanded after all.

"I am sorry, you know," Aro said, lowering his voice. "I didn't mean to violate your privacy quite so much this morning, it's just that I read everyone I meet, because I can and because it helps in my work. It's nothing personal, I can assure you."

"Right," said John, taking the surrendered glass and raising it to his lips to hide his irrational sense of disappointment. "Nothing personal."

John's attention was caught suddenly by Caius sitting down next to Marcus and Didyme. Something about the three of them together was eerily familiar. A very tall man with a long face and brown hair down to his shoulders wearing an expensive suit. A girl with a lot of dark curls, more casually dressed in leggings and loose jumper. A younger man with long-ish white blond hair and a more fashionable suit. Surely he had seen them all together before. John looked over at Sherlock and saw that his friend had also noticed.

"Your family," Sherlock said meaningfully, turning his head towards Aro, who was perched on the arm of Alice's seat.

"My family," Aro repeated fondly, and then looked down at Alice, a little subdued. She raised one hand and he lightly touched her fingertips with his own.

Something seemed to click into place. John blinked, of course. The Romanii's first message. The three teenagers had represented Aro's three dissimilar siblings. And here they were, alive and well. And still in danger.

Sherlock looked suddenly pleased with himself. "I presume this is your 'valuable asset'?" He indicated Alice, who looked back at him with bright, almond-shaped eyes, as lively and inquisitive as her father's.

Aro stroked Alice's short dark hair. "My daughter is...very talented. It has taken the Romanii a long time to find a way around her."

"Certainly," said Sherlock, looking even more pleased. "How they must hate her for that, and hate you even more for acquiring her. So the message this morning was just a prelude, a forewarning of the first attack. But the final blow, oh they've had that planned out for decades. They're going to destroy everything you've worked for and then they're going to make you watch as they take your beloved daughter apart, just so they can listen to you scream."

Caius's eyebrows went up dangerously. Aro raised his hand quickly to still his brother's movement forward, an action which would have ended inevitably with Caius's hand wrapped around Sherlock's throat.

John leaned over and fixed Sherlock with a look of dominance fueled by genuine fear. "What the hell are you doing, Sherlock?" he hissed.

"Just wondering how much they need me," Sherlock said coolly, without taking his eyes off of Aro. "And they do. Desperately."

Caius actually snarled at Sherlock but subsided again under Aro's cautioning hand.

"Shall we continue, Mr. Holmes?" Aro asked politely.

"Only if you are prepared to start telling me the truth, Mr. Volturi." Sherlock smiled briefly and humorlessly.

"The truth is always far too complicated to tell in its entirety, you know that as well as I do," said Aro sweetly. "The best I can do is tell you what you can understand."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh please. Let's forgo the wisdom of the ancients, shall we? You're immortal and yet you're dying as we speak, because they've already begun work on your final end. Tell me the truth or I leave here and find a more pleasant set of drinking companions."

Aro tilted his head and regarded Sherlock with a completely blank expression. The other members of Aro's family reacted to his movement as though a message had been passed on to them. Alice put her hands over her eyes and bowed her head. Didyme and Marcus exchanged meaningful looks. Caius quieted and turned in Aro's direction.

John drank the rest of his scotch in a quick gulp, wincing a little, and hoped for the best.

Without speaking, Aro stood and moved to sit between his brothers, Caius shifting aside to make room. Aro's hand slipped into Caius's automatically and both looked thoughtfully down at their joined hands without really seeing them.

Sherlock took a quick intake of breath and pressed his palms together under his chin in anticipation. Definitely not boring.

Marcus raised his arm and slowly slid one hand up Aro's neck and under the thick hair, resting it on the back of his brother's neck in something between a caress and a restraint.

John looked questioningly at Sherlock.

"What's…?"

Sherlock cut him off with an impatient gesture.

Aro focused all his mental capacity on his brothers' minds, the result of which was that in the wide, open space of his mind there was now nothing but a luminous white expanse, empty of everything except….

Himself. Standing with clasped hands. His black hair and suit burning darkly against the light.

Marcus and Caius stood before him in the white nothingness. Each looked towards Aro but only he could truly see either of them.

 _He's lying of course,_ thought Marcus. _The fox would never go to the Romanii. He despises empire-builders._

 _I don't care where their loyalties lie, if the Romanii catch either of them, they could be tortured into compliance,_ thought Caius. _I don't give the hedgehog more than 20 seconds before he begs for mercy._

In the lounge, Aro raised his head slowly and locked eyes with Sherlock.

Sherlock breathed out slowly. "Oh, interesting." He raised his joined hands in front of his mouth. "The three kings, the unholy trinity."

"The Romanii made an open declaration of war against Volturi law early this morning," said Aro, speaking with precise care. "Every immortal within the communication network of my species knows it now. But we cannot accept this challenge. We know exactly where they are and yet we cannot attack. Even if our victory is assured in the present, it spells our future destruction."

In the white space, Marcus nodded. _Trust him._

 _They're a liability,_ thought Caius.

"Because to acknowledge their threat to your rule would also acknowledge that your rule can be threatened," said Sherlock. "It would only be a matter of time before another faction tried their luck."

"And yet they can not attack us," continued Aro. "They have certain, assets. But in the end they would burn. We have superior numbers and many talented members."

"Such as your daughter the psychic," said Sherlock.

Alice raised her head and uncovered her eyes, staring at him.

"Oh come, it's obvious isn't it?" asked Sherlock coyly. "Your enemies can't do much if you can see them coming. Not just what will happen, but what might happen, each time they change their plans."

Alice looked at Aro with an amused expression, raising one eyebrow.

Marcus was laughing in Aro's mind.

 _Kill him_ , thought Caius in the white void. _Kill him now._

"Alice can see flashes of future events," said Aro. "But the future is uncertain and her talent is based on present intentionality. And herein lies the problem of Moriarty."

"Moriarty was chosen because of his mental shield, not just to you but to your daughter," said Sherlock, interlacing his fingers and speaking quickly. "But you can assume from the Romanii's actions that he must have been able to pass along at least a significant portion of his plans before he was killed, or they would have packed up and gone home by now. Except they don't know what they got yet or they would have the intention of using it and then Alice would know." He came to a verbal halt at the word 'know' and pointed his joined fingers at Aro. "You said Moriarty left something with Irene Adler for safe-keeping, a missing piece?"

"A decryption program," said Aro. "That only Moriarty could use. He was very clever." Aro smiled sadly. "Alice had a vision of Ms. Adler delivering the program to the Romanii, and in return being granted immortality, partly I'm afraid because she knew what they liked. Alice also foresaw Gianna's murder. You were only partly right about the reason for her death. It was the result of a miscalculation to begin with, but with Alice's vision we could have prevented the event. Regrettably, we choose not to, if we had then the Romanii would have reached Ms. Adler earlier, and it was vital that the woman met with us and us alone today. The device would not have been completely useless in their hands although I'm afraid it is in ours."

"You are in trouble," said Sherlock, smiling.

"If we knew what the plans were, we could simply circumvent them."

"And how would you find them out?"

Aro tilted his head again. "You are going to find them out, my dear Sherlock, after all you and Moriarty were very much alike, if on opposite sides of the angels. If Moriarty could think of a way for the Romanii to succeed without open warfare, than so can you."

"Or die," said Sherlock.

"Oh no, you're free to leave at any time. Provided you don't work against us, we have no quarrel with you."

Sherlock laughed. "I would just have to try very hard not to be forced to work against you, better to kill me first. That's what your brother has advised, hasn't he?"

Aro grinned and Caius scowled darkly.

"By the way, just out of curiosity, how many of you have talents?" asked Sherlock. "Marcus has something to do with loyalty-reading, yes? Not sure about Didyme, but Caius, definitely no talent. Is that why he's so angry all the time."

John closed his eyes briefly and hummed to himself.

"Caius's talent is anger," said Aro soothingly, tightening his grip on Caius's hand.

"So I would be preventing your overthrow and making sure the vampire world goes on being neat and orderly," said Sherlock.

"That would be the ideal situation."

Sherlock gasped and sat up straighter, realization flooding his mind.

"Except it's not so simple as that, is it?"

"Excuse me?" said Aro.

"I'll burn you all?" Sherlock quoted back to him. "Moriarty didn't just mean he'd destroy your family. If he died it would mean the Romanii had failed him as well, and he never did anything by half. He's built a fail-safe into his plans. If the Romanii use the plans without him, then they will trigger a second plan. One that will destroy the entire vampire species."

In a dark blur of movement, Aro was bending over Sherlock, one hand braced against the back of Sherlock's seat, their faces close. John stopped breathing momentarily, too surprised to move. Sherlock didn't flinch, looking back at Aro almost without blinking.

"Well, well," breathed Aro, his eyes large and luminous, "this is an interesting dilemma for you. It's one thing to help my family keep the balance, but quite another thing to help prevent the destruction of your species' only real predator. You could stand back and let us be wiped out completely, or you could preserve the hundreds of blood-drinking monsters walking the streets undetected."

Sherlock's eyes moved from Aro to John.

John hesitated and then nodded once, very slightly, in confirmation.

"You have our full support, Mr. Volturi," said Sherlock, returning his gaze to Aro's face.

Aro smiled happily, like a Cheshire cat. "Then you have my undying gratitude, Mr. Holmes." He inclined his head courteously to John. "Dr. Watson."

John sighed. Hell. Hell, hell, hell. Now what?


	7. Late Arrivals

Sherlock's phone rang and he ignored it.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" asked John.

"It's only Lestrade. I've got more important things to think about right now than his public relations disasters."

They were on their way back to the flat. It had stopped raining now and the streets were crowded. Without Aro in the backseat with them, the Volturi's car seemed almost ordinary, that is, if you didn't count the two vampires in the front seats.

Sherlock gazed out his window abstractedly while his mobile rang again.

John fidgeted, their recent encounter with the Volturi family and decision to back the fortunes of blood-thirsty predators had strained his nerves to the breaking point.

The ring tone sounded a third time.

"Oh hell," said John. "I'll answer it." He reached over and pulled the phone out of Sherlock's jacket. Sherlock didn't resist, or seem to notice.

"Sherlock Holmes' phone, John Watson speaking."

"John, thank god, is Sherlock with you?" Lestrade sounded exasperated but not as frantic as John would have thought.

"He's just in one of his thinking spells, has something more happened?"

"You could say that. The CIA have arrived to help with the blood murders."

"The CIA?" John asked in surprise. "What do they have to do with it?"

Sherlock looked up, suddenly alert.

"They say the profile is similar to a terrorist organization they've been tracking…."

The rest of Lestrade's reply was lost as Sherlock deftly yanked the phone out of John's hand.

"Tell them I'll be there shortly," said Sherlock.

"Ok, how lo…"

Sherlock thumbed the phone off and returned it to his pocket, then switched seats and knocked on the black privacy panel between them and the front of the car.

The panel slid back and Renata peered through.

"What is it?"

"Slight change of plans," said Sherlock cheerfully. "We need to go to Scotland Yard first."

"Those are not our orders."

"I'm sure Aro will understand, if you explain it right."

"We have orders to transfer you to your flat only."

"I understand that, but it's vital to your masters that I have free rein on this case. We need to stop at Scotland Yard now."

"Those are not our orders."

They could hear Felix chuckling from the other seat. Renata glared in his direction.

Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Oh very well, I would absolutely hate to interfere with your orders."

He looked meaningfully at John and then meaningfully at his hand, which was poised on the nearest door handle. John nodded and moved to the edge of his seat, ready for action.

Sherlock waited a few seconds until traffic caused the car to slow down to a crawl, then shoved the car door open and jumped out, followed quickly by John. They heard a frustrated cry from inside the car before John slammed the door behind them but there were too many vehicles on the road for their protectors to stop. Sherlock slid over the hood of the next car over and John did the same, gesturing apologetically to the driver.

"Just keep moving," said Sherlock, pulling John onto the crowded sidewalk.

"Aren't they going to catch up with us?" John looked over his shoulder but so far no pursuers were in sight.

"They can't risk being noticed so they'll have to move slowly, which will give us time to get to Lestrade before we're picked up again...come on." Sherlock signaled a cab with unerring timing and slid into the backseat.

"Hurry up, John."

John looked behind him again, over the passersby further up the street, he could see the top of someone's head, someone very large. He ducked into the cab and shut the door quickly, expecting at any moment to have the entire vehicle lifted into the air by the worthy Felix.

"Why are you so anxious to meet with the CIA?" John asked.

"Because it's not the CIA," said Sherlock smugly.

John frowned anxiously. "You think it's the Romanii again?"

"Oh of course not, they'll stick to playing Interpol agents and besides they don't need any further information from the police."

"Right, they'll just kidnap us and turn us into zombie slaves."

"Vampires," corrected Sherlock.

"Whatever, I'm not particular. Why do we want to put ourselves in danger to meet fake CIA agents?"

"Because they're not the Volturi and they're not the Romanii. Aren't you curious to know who else is interested in this little disagreement?"

John looked over at Sherlock. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

Sherlock grinned, looking so pleased and happy that John almost couldn't begrudge him the experience.

Almost.

"You do realize you're going to get us both killed, you know? What makes you think these people we're going to meet aren't going to turn out more lethal than the ones we've just left?"

"Oh more lethal certainly, but not at all as dangerous," said Sherlock cheerfully. "The Volturi are the most likely to succeed in removing us from the scene, but as they're the ones assuring our protection we've got nothing to worry about."

"Sherlock…," John began, then simply stopped and looked out his window. What was the sense in continuing to demand caution from Sherlock Holmes?

"Well?"

"Nothing. Let's just get on with it."

Sherlock smirked and leaned over to murmur in John's ear, "You're enjoying this too, you know. And I saw the way he looked at you, ab-so-lutely  smitten ."

John tightened his jaw and tried very hard not to bloody his best friend's nose.

* * *

They were walking into the station when Sherlock froze and then pulled John behind a corner.

"What…?" began John but Sherlock shushed him, peering covertly around the corner at Lestrade's glass-walled office and the two men who were sitting across from Lestrade's desk.

"Who are we hiding from?" asked John in a whisper, aware that they were drawing curious looks from the other occupants of the police station.

Sherlock turned and backed John into the wall, fixing him with an unwavering stare, as though about to hypnotise him.

"John, I need you to concentrate very carefully."

"Ok," said John uncertainly.

"Do you remember when we were driving back from Cornwall and you insisted on playing that atrocious dribble on the radio?"

"Contemporary pop music, yes."

"There was one song that got completely stuck in your head. You kept humming it for days afterward."

"I...don't remember."

"Yes you do."

John folded his arms. "Alright, remind me then."

Sherlock sighed in exasperation. "It was about milkshakes."

John suppressed a grin. "I'm fairly certain that wasn't the real subject, but go on."

Sherlock locked his eyes on John like a snake on its prey.

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they're like it's better than yours," he chanted in a low voice.

John's mouth twitched but he managed to go on levely looking back at Sherlock.

"Damn right it's better than yours, I can teach you, but I have to charge," Sherlock continued, as though the words were a spell he was casting.

"This is disturbing on so many levels," said John.

"La la-la la la, the boys are waiting," hissed Sherlock.

"Ok, ok, I've got it stuck in my head again," said John, unable to stand any more without doubling over laughing. "Was there a point to all that?"

"Just something to bear in mind," said Sherlock cryptically.

The two men in Lestrade's office were Americans at least, but they resembled CIA agents as they might have been portrayed in a particularly glossy Hollywood blockbuster filled with ridiculously attractive models. The older one looked to be in his twenties, all golden hair and piercing blue eyes. The younger one appeared to be about eighteen, with the disheveled mop hair of a member of a particularly dreamy boy band.

Agents Cullen and Cullen (brothers?) nodded politely to Sherlock and John when introduced. John eyed them surreptitiously, looking for the now familiar signs, and found them. Pale skin, almost white, no visible sign of a pulse. He was starting to wonder now if all of the vampires they had met wore contacts. Their eyes looked just a little off, as though another color lay behind them.

"These are very exciting developments," the older Cullen was saying. "Not of course that we're at all pleased that people have died but these do represent the first major slip-ups for this organization, they don't usually operate this visibly."

John was trying to concentrate but that damn song was in his head again now.

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard….

The younger agent was looking bored, not really paying attention to his colleague.

Damn right it's better than yours….

For some reason, the song in John's head was now joined to a kind of music video fantasy, with Aro's daughter Alice singing and dancing in a skin-tight bodysuit that would make for some difficult explaining if Aro ever read his mind again.

The younger agent gave John a sharp look, enough to make him shift uncomfortably, before looking away again quickly.

Sherlock appeared to be listening interestedly, but John was pretty sure he wasn't. Besides being completely untrue, the suppositions of the fake CIA agent were also quite boring. Sherlock should be up and pacing the room by now, not sitting docile and silent.

John became aware that the younger agent was now glowering sulkily at Sherlock.

Sherlock's mouth curved a little as though he were suppressing a smile, and he pressed his palms together under his chin as though he was very interested indeed in the files that the agent and Lestrade were sifting through.

"Well," said Sherlock finally. "I can see you have this well under control. I've got a number of other cases on at the moment, so I'm more than comfortable leaving this case in your capable hands, Agent Cullen."

Lestrade looked up in shocked astonishment. "You're dropping the case?"

"When the CIA are involved, what can an ordinary citizen hope to add," said Sherlock graciously.

The agents were clearly thrown by this development.

"Oh but we were really looking forward to getting your insight on this, Mr. Holmes," said the older agent. He exchanged questioning looks with the younger agent who shrugged in an aggravated manner.

"Sorry," said Sherlock, "I really do apologize, but we must dash. Come, John."

"What the hell was going on there?" John asked when they were outside the station, leaving behind a completely confused Lestrade.

"They're hunters," said Sherlock, arranging his scarf in a satisfied manner. "They were hoping to use us as leverage, or bait, to draw their target out."

"Who's their target then?"

"Not sure yet...I think it's something they want to use though, something powerful."

"Like Moriarty's plan?" John looked around, wondering when the Volturi were going to show up and take them in hand.

"Maybe…." Sherlock said thoughtfully. "Then again, maybe not. There's something that hasn't been revealed here. A lie of omission…. By the way, the younger one was a mind reader, that's why I put that song in your head."

"What? But we didn't shake hands."

"This one reads minds from a distance. I saw him listening to Lestrade when we came in. I suspected he could only pick up current thoughts however, as proved by his rising frustration level."

"So what were you thinking of?" John asked curiously.

"Thirty-six varieties of tobacco ash," said Sherlock smugly. "I hope he found it entertaining."

The black Volturi car drew up with a screeching halt in front of them and Renata sprang out, looking ready to carry them back to Baker Street over her shoulder if necessary.

"Here we go again," said John philosophically as she seized his jacket sleeve with one hand and grabbed Sherlock's elbow with the other.

"Careful," said Sherlock, "wouldn't do to damage us."

"All we need is your mind," said Renata venomously.

Sherlock and John exchanged amused looks as she stuffed them into the backseat of the car.

* * *

Alice was stretched out comfortably on one of the sofas in the nightclub lounge, her back propped up against Aro's shoulder. She listened to Caius making caustic comments about the latest stock prices to Aro, which Aro was finding amusing because of some secret sibling in-jokes that she didn't understand.

Marcus and Didyme were on the dancefloor where a thumping pop anthem was playing. Marcus's ability to master the latest popular dances was a continuous surprise to his family, although it probably had something to do with being married to an eternal teenager. Didyme was dancing happily with the loose-limbed grace of youth, her long hair swaying around her.

Alice wondered idly if she could persuade Aro to dance tonight, it was hard to tell how preoccupied he was with the latest turn of events.

Her vision was suddenly hijacked.

_ The hunters moved through the London streets with a direction and purpose that had no place in the casual throng of passersby. Their beautiful faces made frightening by the predatory look in their eyes, cold, unyielding, thirsty. _

She sat up abruptly, gasping and clutching her head.

Aro turned around quickly. "What do you see?" he asked in anxious concern. She silently held out her hand to him and he cradled it in both of his.

"How extraordinary," said Aro softly. He gazed ahead at nothing in particular. "Now I wonder who in the world invited  them ?"


	8. Sleepless Nights

Renata shoved John and Sherlock through the door of Sherlock's bedroom, causing them to stumble against over various bits of furniture before they caught their balance.

"Look," said John, in an attempt at being reasonable. "We're very sorry we ran off like that, but do you think you could stop roughing us up now?"

"You will stay here, where it's safe, until the masters summon you," said Renata to Sherlock, choosing to ignore John completely.

Sherlock inclined his head with ironic ceremony, and she left, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"Hey, wait," said John, hurrying after her and reaching the door just in time to hear the click of the lock. "Couldn't you at least lock me in my own bedroom?" he added.

The lock clicked again and Felix opened the door a crack. "This isn't where you sleep?" he asked with a note of honest puzzlement in his voice. "You don't share a bedroom with your mate?"

John sighed in exasperation. "We. Are. Not. A. Couple," he said fiercely.

"Yes, be sure to tell Aro that, in case he gets the wrong idea," said Sherlock smirking mischieviously as he leaned over John's shoulder.

"Well I am sorry for the inconvenience," said Felix apologetically, "but it would be best if you were in the same location tonight." He shut the door and locked it again.

John sighed again and leaned his back against the door, rubbing his hand over his forehead.

"So what now?" he asked.

"I need to think," said Sherlock, taking off his coat and tossing it over a chair. He looked less enthusiastic than he had earlier in the evening.

John folded his arms and watched with a concerned expression as Sherlock folded himself into the chair and pressed his palms together in front of his face.

"Do you want to…." began John.

"No."

"...talk?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and was silent.

There was a knock on the door and it opened just enough for Renata's hand to appear with a take-away bag. John took it cautiously and then the two take-away teas that were handed through after. The door was shut and locked again wordlessly. John examined the contents of the bag, two portions of fish and chips.

"Hey," John called through the door. "You forgot the mushy peas!" He was rewarded by a snarl from Renata and grinned to himself. His smile faded again as he turned back to the room and Sherlock's tense, still form.

Sherlock thought about terrible things all the time, but this seemed about the worst.

Moriarty's mind. Moriarty's plans. All the things John had thought they might finally be free of, and now Sherlock had to go back into all that darkness. And for what?

John thought about the family they had left in the nightclub. They had all seemed so close, so happy together. As if they were capable of human feelings, as if they were worthy of human feelings. He couldn't make himself think of them as demons, monsters. If Sherlock didn't succeed, they would die. Still more hostages in the battle of wits between Moriarty and Sherlock, a game that was still playing out despite one of the contenders being dead.

"Do you want to…"

"No."

"...eat something?"

"You eat," said Sherlock. "This could take a while."

John sat on the bed and took out a carton of food and a plastic fork.

"Oh damn," he said in alarm, a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"She's fine," said Sherlock.

"How do you know?"

"I texted her from the morgue, she's gone to stay with her sister."

"Oh." John prodded the fish and chips in a preoccupied way. "Well, I guess I'll let you…."

"Shut up John."

"...get on with it."

There was silence for a while, broken only by the sound of chewing. Outside, Felix and Renata sat side by side on the sofa, waiting, listening, for things that did not want to be heard.

* * *

The alleyway was empty when the two men turned into it. Sleek and golden Carlisle Cullen halted in the middle and held up a hand. Tousled and smudged Edward Cullen came to a halt next to him. They gazed upward at the back of number 221B Bakers Street without speaking but certainly not without thinking. Carlisle thought, carefully and precisely, of a plan, of climbing up the rough bricks, of entering silently through the window of John Watson's room, of an attack, quick and lethal, of….

Edward listened to Carlisle's thoughts and smiled, a bitter and ironic smile that didn't bode well for the human traitors currently in league with the Volturi.

Someone coughed lightly behind them and they spun around, startled.

The pale young man in slim-fitting pinstripes and black trenchcoat who had just landed in the alleyway from a nearby roof regarded them with amusement.

"Good evening Carlisle, Edward," he said with a polite and somehow mocking bow of his head

Carlisle straightened out of his defensive stance and stood tensely. "Good evening, Demetri. I trust your masters are well."

"Oh, exceedingly well," said Demetri, stepping forward a little and then stopping again at Edward's warning growl. "They send their kind regards and hope that you will join them tonight."

Carlisle and Edward exchanged glances. "We haven't broken the agreement," said Carlisle. "You have no right to bring us in."

Demetri smiled, a little too happily. "And yet here I am. We could do this the easy way…." As he spoke, two fashionably dressed young women dropped lightly down on either side of him, both tall and impossibly attractive, regarding the Cullens with the easy superiority of people who never fail to get what they came for.

"...Or we could do it the easssy way," Demetri continued, his voice turning casually sinister. "I'm sure Heidi and Chelsea would much prefer you did. They've been simply aching to use their talents recently."

Edward looked away angrily and Carlisle sighed, feeling the pull of Heidi's talent at the corners of his mind, and other parts of his anatomy. "The easy way, if you don't mind" he said.

* * *

Sunk below the Volturi Building was a subterranean city unto itself. Space came at a premium in London and building under existing structures was becoming increasingly popular, a fact that the Volturi had exploited perhaps more than was strictly civically-minded.

After a lengthy elevator ride and some stately antechambers, Heidi swung open the huge double-doors to the throne room and stepped through, catching Aro's eye and giving him a smug little smile as she approached the dais where the three coven masters sat. Her powers of attraction always worked, even if her victims felt a self-righteous disgust towards her in the process.

The three masters were seated on chairs that would not have been out of place in a Buckingham Palace drawing room, but the effect was the same as it had been when Carlisle had first made their acquaintance centuries before, when the throne room was in a castle, and the thrones had been tall and intricately carved, towering above him. The brothers sat still as statues now, acknowledging his approach with a movement of their eyes only.

When the party came to a halt before the dais, Aro turned his head towards Marcus and raised his hand in a gesture that was somewhere been a blessing and a call for silence, and which had an immediate effect on Carlisle and Edward. They knelt, Carlisle without protest, Edward awkwardly and reluctantly.

Marcus inclined his head to Aro with a faint smile, and Aro swung his head back to the Cullens with the same impersonation of a marble statue. And grinned widely. The sudden transformation of his face made Carlisle jump a little, the intended effect, no less potent for its familiarity.

"You were warned, Cullen," said Caius darkly. "There are no second chances to be found here."

"We have committed no breach of the agreement," said Carlisle. He shot a quick glance at Edward but his adopted son only shook his head.

The Volturi had many years of experience in controlling their minds. It was entirely possible for them to pay attention to the present and wall off any unnecessary thoughts, intentions, and memories.

 _Your talent is meaningless here, Cullen,_ Caius thought, directing his cold gaze to Edward.

Edward sneered and was silent, letting the more diplomatic Carlisle speak.

"We are not here to hunt, Aro," said Carlisle, opting to ignore Caius in favor of the devil he knew best.

"Then why are you here, dear Carlisle?" asked Aro, his soft voice like a silken shadow.

"We have a commission to fulfill, nothing more," said Carlisle with earnest honesty. "Aro, I have lived for three hundred years in accordance with your coven's laws. I assure you, we have no intention of breaking them now or ever."

"You have always been a truthful liar, Carlisle. You broke our agreement once, in spirit if not in the flesh," said Aro smoothly, his hands resting in apparent neutrality on the arms of his chair. "My brother is correct, we do not give second chances, and it would seem, you are here to once again violate the spirit of our agreement, or you would not hide from us now."

Carlisle swallowed hard but remained resolute. He held out his hand to Aro. "You can see for yourself, if you do not believe me."

Aro laughed, the light sound skittering through the cavernous throne room. "You want me to break one of the terms of the agreement? After which you would be free to break all the terms you desire?"

"Not at all," said Carlisle quickly.

"It would help greatly to quiet our fears, if we knew who you were fulfilling a commission for," said Aro.

"I'm afraid Edward and I have agreed to complete confidentiality in that regard," said Carlisle. He was conscious of walking along a narrow path bordered on either side by a steep precipice. One false step and either his life or his ideals would end.

"That's very inconvenient," said Aro. "But surely you can give us some shred of information to work with? Some concession in return for our generous trust in you."

Carlisle was silent, it was dangerous but less so than incautious speech.

Aro smiled encouragingly and tilted his head to one side, waiting, with all the patience of eternity.

Edward's eyes widened suddenly and he looked slightly nauseous.

Carlisle sighed. "Aro…," he said reproachfully.

"Yes?" asked Aro innocently.

Edward winced and put his hand over his eyes. Caius seemed to be trying not to laugh.

"Edward already knows you and I used to be in a relationship," said Carlisle, "could you, just please, not torture him with the intimate details?"

"Oh, I am sorry, dear Carlisle" said Aro, smiling sweetly. "It's just that when old friends meet again, it's hard not to remember the past. That delightful way you had of screaming for mercy and then with the next breath begging me not to stop. I always found it so very stimulating."

Carlisle closed his eyes briefly and then looked steadily back at Aro. He understood the implication. He had submitted to Aro once upon a time, why should he not do it again? Aro tilted his head the other way, trying to read him from a distance.

"Enough," said Caius, regaining his look of extreme annoyance. "We know you tried to make contact with the detective and the doctor. We found you outside their home tonight, for goodness sake. And you've been seen hunting them, why should we believe your pathetic lies?"

"Until we have broken the agreement, you cannot restrain our movements or read our minds," said Carlisle, speaking as though from rote memory.

"You have been seen," repeated Caius.

"Alice sees only what might be," said Carlisle evenly, "and she is sometimes wrong."

Aro stood and stepped down from the dais, slowly and carefully. He halted within an inch of Carlisle, their faces close, and regarded him with a thoughtful expression. Carlisle waited, still as death, for the light touch of Aro's fingertips on his face, but none came.

Instead Aro's expression changed gradually from gleeful enjoyment to pure, blank neutrality.

Carlisle looked sickened.

"Aro, please," he whispered, so softly that only Aro could hear.

"For years I have tolerated you and your son," said Aro very quietly in a low measured voice. "Because of the affection I still bear for you, and because the role you play in our society has not been without use to my family. But do not presume too far, dearest. I am perfectly capable of killing that which I love when necessary, never doubt it."

For a split second, Edward caught sight of something in Aro's mind before it was hidden from sight again. A sandy-haired man, human, with an open, honest face, full of humor and questioning scrutiny. He frowned to himself, puzzled at the unexpected discovery.

"I don't doubt it," replied Carlisle, almost in a whisper.

Aro drew back, returning to his seat on the dais. He settled himself again into his regal stance, his hands once more on the arms of his chair.

"You are free to leave, we will not trouble you further while you are in London," he said, with an air of easy authority.

Carlisle and Edward got to their feet cautiously, and then bowed their heads to him.

"Thank you Aro," said Carlisle.

Aro smiled benevolently down at him, and then nodded to Demetri and Heidi.

"What are you playing at, Aro?" Caius hissed as the brothers watched the Cullens and their escort depart.

"I am playing the long game, brother," said Aro, looking straight ahead.

"You do not think you might be over-estimating your human detective's mental abilities?" Marcus said, looking at Aro's set profile with a concerned expression. "Perhaps you should be relying on your own instead."

"If he fails," said Aro quietly, "then we fall. Of this I am certain."

* * *

"John, wake up, wake up dammit!"

John's eyelids flew open at last, and his screams cut off at the same time as he stared into Sherlock's face.

"What…? What's happening?"

"You were having a nightmare," said Sherlock, releasing John's shoulders and sitting back on the bed. "You kept shouting something about wanting something gotten off you, nearly broke my nose too."

"Sorry," said John, sitting up. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep on top of the covers, worn out from the day's events. He had a vague sense of the nightmare though, a creature black as night, holding him down with heavy claws, grinning at him with a cruel, beak-like mouth….

"No activity, repeat, no activity," said a deep voice from the doorway, and John looked up to see Felix talking into his mobile. "The hedgehog was having a nightmare, no change to report," Felix continued, and then ended the call with a relieved expression.

"What did you just call me?" demanded John. He was still breathing hard and his throat felt raw.

"Shouldn't you quiet him down?" Felix asked Sherlock. "Cuddle him or something?" It had been a long time since Felix had been a human but he had some latent sense that John was in a bad state and needed comforting.

"Look I'm fine," said John firmly, "don't you have some guarding to do?"

Felix backed out and locked the door, still with a concerned and somewhat helpless expression on his blocky face.

"What time is it?" asked John.

"3 in the morning," said Sherlock, he stretched out on the bed next to John and gazed abstractedly at a point somewhere between the ceiling and the opposite wall.

"Have you slept at all?"

"No."

John turned on his side and smiled coyly at Sherlock. "Would you like a cuddle, then?" he teased.

Sherlock scowled at him, and then his expression changed as he looked at his friend.

"What?" asked John.

"Be careful, John."

"I am careful, I spend all my time running after psychopaths and terrorists, don't I?"

John spoke lightly but Sherlock didn't smile. Instead he glanced around in the direction of the rest of the flat, and put his finger to his lips.

"They can hear every word we're saying, can't they?" whispered John.

Instead of replying, Sherlock took out his mobile and began typing. A moment later John's mobile rang and he took it out.

"You're texting me and I'm in the same room?"

"Just read it, John."

**It's the only way to communicate. - SH**

"I know it's you," said John, "you don't have to sign it. You're right here."

**Shut up and listen to me, John. - SH**

**Ok, fine. - JW**

**Aro's going to ask you to become a vampire. I want you think very carefully before replying. - SH**

John looked sharply at Sherlock who silently urged him to use his phone.

**What? How do you know this? - JW**

**Alice knows. Alice sees the future based on present intention. That's why she was so excited to meet you. She's seen you and Aro together. - SH**

**This is crazy. - JW**

**Is it? You like him, or however you put it. - SH**

**He's a vampire! - JW**

**And you're a human. I was teasing you before, but the way he looks at you, I can read signs like that as well as anyone. - SH**

**Are you really serious? - JW**

John looked up at Sherlock.

"I'm perfectly serious."

John chewed his lip in silence for a few minutes. He tried to think of what it would be like to a. be in a relationship with Aro Volturi and b. live as a vampire, but it was hard to reconcile all the gory vampire films he had ever seen with the charming, wide-eyed Aro. Would he really have to drink blood? He'd never be a doctor again, that was for sure. And what was he even thinking of? Willingly turn into a vampire, just for some stupid infatuation?

"John," said Sherlock softly.

John looked at him, forehead creased with worry.

"John, you know I don't have friends," said Sherlock hesitantly.

"Well I wouldn't go that far…." began John.

"I only have one friend." Sherlock looked meaningfully at him.

John took this in, and then ducked his head, beaming. After all this time, it was good to hear it. He felt a lump in his throat. If he became a vampire, if he became Aro's person or whathaveyou, then it would certainly mean an end to his partnership with Sherlock, at least, as it existed presently.

"Is it confession time then?" asked John.

"No, absolutely not."

"No look, I just want to say, before I met you...I was so alone…." John choked a little with emotion, remembering how cold and hollow he had felt then. "I just want to say, thank you."

Sherlock appeared genuinely touched and then looked away quickly. After a moment, his mobile beeped.

**I don't want to become a vampire. - JW**

**You might, when he asks you. But remember, he's a monster. - SH**

**I know, he's a vampire. - JW**

**They're all vampires. I mean he's a monster. I should know, takes one to know one. - SH**

John looked over at Sherlock.

"Are you afraid of him?" he asked.

"Just be careful, John," said Sherlock, and lay back on the pillows, closing his eyes and peaking his fingertips under his chin.

John lay back and stared at a spot on the ceiling. Just then, he wouldn't have minded a cuddle.


	9. Among Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Cuteness!

The sun was shining, for the first time in weeks, streaming in through the windows of no. 221B. Sherlock was standing in its light, his violin in his arms, not really playing it so much as cradling and strumming it in an abstracted manner. He wasn't really looking out the window either.

Renata was definitely looking out the window, with watchful concentration, standing to the side so that the drawn-back curtain shielded her from the light.

John was trying to concentrate on his laptop but his eyes kept returning to the two figures at the window.

At last Sherlock appeared to notice Renata's presence for the first time. He gave her a curious, side-long look, and then reached out a long-fingered hand and twitched away the curtain next to her. She jumped back quickly or rather, shifted back, like a shadow.

"Does it burn?" he asked curiously. "No," he said quickly, answering his own question. "It's just a prohibition. Why?"

Renata glared at him and jerked the curtain back into position before returning her gaze to the street below.

"It's our skin," said Felix, amused and comfortable on the sofa. "Refractive, you'd notice it in direct sunlight."

"Are you saying you're sparkly?" said John.

"Crystalline," said Sherlock, and then losing interest, tucked his violin under his chin and began to play softly.

"You're sure you wouldn't like a cup of tea or something," John asked Felix.

"They can't eat," said Sherlock.

"Well, technically we can," said Felix. "It's just highly unpleasant for us."

"So, just blood then?" said John.

"Just blood," said Felix cheerfully, he fished a newspaper out of one of Sherlock's piles of mess and started perusing it with casual interest.

"Right, good, just blood," said John, fixing his attention on his laptop again. "Blood, blood, blood. Blood, blood, blood, blood."

"John," said Sherlock.

"Sorry."

There was a long silence while Sherlock made notations on his music stand. Then he loomed over Renata, bending down so that their faces were level.

"How do I kill you?" he asked slowly.

Felix and John looked up in surprise.

"You can't," said Renata, not sure how to take this question.

"If I could," said Sherlock. "Humor me."

"Dismemberment," said Renata. "And then fire."

"Nothing else?"

"Isn't that enough?" asked John.

Sherlock straightened up, keeping his eyes on Renata. "No," he said, biting the words off with his teeth, "it isn't."

John expected something more to happen with this, but Sherlock seemed to lose interest again and went back to playing, something sad and wistful. Normally John would take a walk about now, just to take a break from Sherlock's whole process, but he wasn't sure if this was allowed.

"So, um, mind if I take a stroll?" he asked Felix. Renata's head swung around quickly.

"You cannot leave," she said in a sharp voice.

"I just thought I'd go out and pick up something decent for supper. Not that I don't enjoy fish and chips of course," he added. There were more cartons of this in the fridge, apparently it was what vampires considered human kibble.

"There was a potential attack on you last night," said Felix, "I don't think it's a good idea for you to leave the flat."

Sherlock stopped playing abruptly. "And you didn't tell us because….?"

"We didn't want to worry you," said Felix unconvincingly.

"Or you didn't want to let us know about the hunters," murmured Sherlock.

"What?" said Renata. "How did…?"

"We met them last night, while we were missing without permission," said Sherlock. "The Cullens, yes? Have you found out yet what they're looking for? Because I don't think they know how to find it, which would give your masters a distinct time advantage if they knew what it was."

Renata and Felix exchanged looks.

"Phone it in," said Renata. Felix nodded and pulled out his mobile.

**The fox met the hunters last night.**

**My Masters.**

**\- FH**

A moment later Felix's mobile dinged softly.

**Stay where you are.**

**\- AV**

* * *

Around five o'clock, John was disconsolately staring at a fridge full of cold fish and chips and wondering if there was any bread left for toast instead, when the downstairs door opened and there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

John came out of the kitchen quickly and looked over at Sherlock who was occupying the sofa with his violin.

Who? mouthed John.

Sherlock shook his head. John looked to Felix and Renata to see if they were worried but found them relatively calm. Renata stood by Sherlock, her back straight, and Felix went to the door just as the footsteps reached it.

The door opened to reveal Aro, smiling genially, and carrying two grocery bags.

John's heart did that thing again, which he really didn't appreciate, and he was left speechless for a moment.

"Hello," said Aro cheerfully, "may I come in?"

"Yes, right, by all means," said John, snapping out of the haze Aro always seemed to induce in him. "Can I take your bags?"

"I'll bring them into the kitchen if I may," said Aro, smiling affectionately at John. "I thought you might like a decent meal after everything you've been through."

"That's, er, very kind of you," said John uncertainly, trailing after him as he led the way into the kitchen and began cheerfully emptying the bags' contents onto the kitchen table.

"I'll need you to help me, of course," said Aro, "I won't be able to taste anything so you'll have to tell me if I'm actually making something edible."

"Wait, hold on a moment, are you saying you can cook?" asked John, forgetting to be intimidated.

Aro grinned at him. "Well I'm not completely useless."

John couldn't help smiling back at Aro and for a moment everything seemed just exactly right. The two of them together, comfortable, even domestic. Then he caught sight of the two wine bottles Aro had put on the table, and he felt a little chilled. One of the bottles was a more than decent vintage, the other had only a blank, white label on it and the color…. John had been around enough blood to recognize that particular shade of red when he saw it.

"That's…um, is it?" he asked, his brow creasing.

Aro smiled a little less gleefully. "It is. I hope you don't mind. I can't eat your food, you see, but it seemed rude just to come over and watch you eat."

"Well Sherlock does that all the time," said John.

There was a pause, awkward on John's part at least, during which Aro waited patiently for the question that he knew John had to ask.

"May I ask how you got it?" said John, folding his arms and hoping Aro didn't read that as a combative gesture.

"Of course you may," said Aro with a kind expression. "You see my brothers and I decided it would be best to start harvesting blood through more voluntary means, for sustainability and security reasons, so ever since it was a viable option, we've run a system of private blood banks globally, it seems humans actually like donating blood. It's against our laws now to harvest the 'old fashioned way', unless in cases of extreme deprivation."

"That's very…humane I suppose," said John, he creased his forehead and blinked a little as he said this, the all-purpose grimace he used when trying to work with something difficult.

Aro smiled. "It's true, and the new laws have definitely cut down on the number of legal infractions we have to deal with in our society. Call it modernization if you like. Oh good lord…."

This last remark was delivered to the contents of the fridge. He turned with a look of honest exasperation to Felix and Renata who were hovering nearby.

"What is this?"

"Well, we thought they could warm it up later…." said Felix, his voice diminishing with uncertainty.

Aro stood pointedly by the open door until Felix got the message and quickly stuffed the contents of the fridge into a bin bag.

"Why don't you two stand guard downstairs," said Aro, turning kindly again. "Keep out of trouble."

John couldn't help heaving a sigh of relief when their two protectors had left. Aro noticed and gave him a sympathetic wink.

"Now," he said, clasping his hands together enthusiastically, "I hope you like vegetarian pan-Mediterranean food, I just recently met a really good chef who specializes in it and ah, picked up everything he knows."

"Sounds lovely, doesn't it, Sherlock?" said John.

"Mmph," said Sherlock ambivalently from the sofa, tuning his violin.

He watched the two of them darkly as they started preparing the meal, Aro getting John to laugh over some self-deprecating joke.

* * *

"You're sure it's not too dry," said Aro later when the three of them were seated around the table. "I've never caramelised fennel before."

"No, no," said John, chewing thoughtfully, his fork already digging in the plate for his next bite. "It's wonderful actually." He looked up and met Aro's eyes, got lost there for a moment, and then quickly looked down at his plate again.

Aro smiled and took another sip from his wine glass. John could just catch the scent of blood from it and he paused, caught between curiosity and a natural disquiet.

"So, what's it like…the whole blood…thing?"

"Well," said Aro. "It's not really like the way you eat and drink, you see, because our internal organs don't work the same anymore. We just absorb the blood into ourselves. Bloodlust is still partly a mystery to my species. We can't die from not feeding and yet we require it somehow, we get desperate if we haven't had it, feel better when we do."

"Does it taste differently to you? I mean you were once human, doesn't it bother you." John was forgetting his apprehension now, the inquisitive nature that had prompted him to go into medicine kicking in.

"That's the first thing that you notice when you've been changed," said Aro. "You can smell it, hear it. It just…seems like life itself, you need it, as simple as that."

Sherlock listened to them with narrowed eyes, his fingers interlaced under his chin. He wasn't eating, he never ate during cases, which gave him the opportunity to watch Aro without distraction.

John took a mouthful of wine and swallowed hard. Reality settled in on him, making him lose his appetite.

"You make it sound so normal," he said quietly.

"It is normal for us," said Aro.

"Yes, but don't you get it? You act like it's normal for us. You sit there and act civilized and charming…" a small smile from Aro made John stutter a little, trying to keep on track, "…like I'm supposed to believe you're a nice person because you wear a suit and drink out of a glass. And yet you can't really be like this, not actually."

"I assure you, most of my life is quite mundane."

John frowned at him. "So, what, you're telling me you sit around watching telly, go down to the pub on a Friday night, sing karaoke?" He was aware that he sounded a little belligerent now but Aro only looked down at his glass with a subdued expression. Sherlock watched them, his eyes flicking from one to the other.

"Piano Man," said Aro.

"Sorry?"

"My favourite karaoke song, Billy Joel, Piano Man. But Alice prefers Katy Perry songs, so I often get bullied into doing those as well."

John laughed in spite of himself. "You're not serious."

"I'm not a psychopath, John, I swear I'm not pretending just to lure you into the underworld. I may be a three thousand year old undead overlord but I'm also still a person with a family and a job and the usual boring and interesting aspects of daily existence."

"What is it? A million?" said Sherlock, speaking for the first time since Aro had arrived.

"I'm sorry?" said Aro. John looked at his friend sharply.

"Three thousand years, and you feed, what, at least a few times a month? Probably a great deal more the first few decades. So about a million people then? Enough to be called a genocide if you hadn't stretched it out over so many years. You're a predator and we're your prey. There's a limit to how much singing karaoke and watching daytime television will gloss over that little fact."

"I will say this," said Aro softly, his expression changing to sadness, "you don't read the minds of that many people and see their lives all ending in you, without being affected by it in some way." He raised his head and looked at John with a vulnerable, pleading expression.

John softened, losing his aggression immediately. "It must be difficult, being able to read everyone, know what everyone is thinking about you all the time."

"Yes," said Aro, he looked away again, at nothing in particular. "People lie to you in so many ways, you see. It makes personal relationships almost impossible. Usually you can pretend with another person, impose your own concept of them, but if you know what they're really thinking, the gap between what they say to you and what they believe in their heart, there's no deception you can hide behind, and no amount of physical attraction that can make it work."

"Tell me about the hunters," said Sherlock, his voice was cold, partly because he could see John's expression of sympathy deepening. "Tell me why your ex-lover is in town trying to run a parallel campaign against you and your family?"

Aro turned his beautiful face slowly towards him and their eyes met unblinkingly for a long moment. Aro's expression was unreadable, Sherlock had a faint smirk of superiority. Watching them, John was reminded of what Sherlock had said last night, that they were both monsters.

"Tell me how you met them," said Aro evenly.

"Yesterday, after we left the nightclub," said John matter-of-factly, since Sherlock was still smirking knowingly at Aro. "Inspector Lestrade called Sherlock and we went to see him, they had told him they were American CIA agents."

"My guard took you to Lestrade?" Aro inquired casually.

"We managed to evade their extraordinary abilities for a time," said Sherlock, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I see, please continue," Aro smiled encouragingly at John, and he wavered a little.

"Sherlock took himself off the case after they expressed a strong interest in working with us."

"They wanted some kind of collaboration?"

"They wanted me to lead them to something, or help them to gain entrance, or both," said Sherlock.

"So…friends of yours?" said John, trying to keep his voice light.

Aro drained his glass and looked meditatively at the slick of blood that coated it.

"Carlisle Cullen was born around 1640. His father was an Anglican minister and a demon hunter, although what that simply meant was that he persecuted humans with the ill luck to appear different at a time when this could be lethal. When Carlisle was a young man, he followed in his father's path and had the ill fortune to attack a man who really was a vampire and who turned him. Carlisle came to my family seeking safety and an understanding of what he had become. He was and always has been, a virtuous man."

"He's a religious fanatic," said Sherlock bluntly. "Who hates his own species and believes it should be exterminated."

"As you say," said Aro, still in an even tone of voice.

"And you two were….?" began John in surprise, and then stopped himself. Somehow with women, he had never doubted his own attractiveness, but with Aro he suddenly wasn't so sure. What did he look like to Aro in comparison with the sleek, golden perfection of Carlisle Cullen?

"Carlisle wanted proof that he had become a demon, that he himself deserved death," said Aro quietly. "He couldn't bring himself to drink human blood, the only vampire I've ever met who has never killed a human, so he decided that allowing himself to be seduced by the prince of darkness was close enough."

"And then he found it wasn't all bondage dungeons and velvet-lined manacles," said Sherlock, pressing his palms together under his chin.

Aro smiled a little nervously. "You make it sound so formal, there wasn't really a dungeon."

"He wanted you to restrain him, or it would have seemed voluntary," mused Sherlock.

John covered his face in his hands.

"Ok, the manacles yes, and maybe some shackles on occasion."

"Are you afraid of embarrassing yourself or John?"

"Well it could be considered a dungeon, but really bedrooms of the nobility were usually pretty kinky at that time anyway."

"Could we get back to the subject at hand, please?" said John, messaging his forehead and not looking at either of them.

"Of course," said Aro, "I'm sorry. Suffice it to say, I spent two decades trying to convince Carlisle that I really did care for him, and on the day I finally succeeded, he left. He found the idea that demons could have hearts too deeply disturbing to his beliefs."

"And ever since, he's been dedicated to the destruction of your species," said Sherlock, almost appreciatively. "You've got admire his particular state of insanity."

"So he's a vampire who's a vampire hunter?" asked John.

Aro grinned. "I know, it does sound odd. Caius had joke t-shirts printed up about it once…. Carlisle and his son operate within certain parameters in our society. My family allows them to hunt vampires who are a liability for our species but who have not explicitly broken any laws. Every society has its fanatics, the trick is in finding the balance between condemnation and integration."

"You used them," said Sherlock flatly.

"Yes," said Aro. As though a switch had been flicked in his head, he lost the casual ease of the moment before and became more poised, deadly serious, like a marble statue of a god.

"And you granted them immunity."

"We granted them free passage."

"You've seen them," said Sherlock slowly, leaning forward as his mind caught fire. "You saw them last night and you let them go. You didn't even read them, did you? You could have drained their minds dry and yet instead you're here, hoping that I've figured out their plans for you."

"It wasn't an easy decision," said Aro. "But Alice believes we are best served by continuing to allow them to move unrestrained. She places every faith in your abilities, Mr. Holmes, as do I."

Sherlock smiled delightedly. "Then you're even more desperate than I thought. And you also don't know why they're here."

"Why are they here?"

"Or more importantly," said Sherlock, standing up and looming over Aro, his hands on the table top. "Who brought them here?"

Aro gazed up him, his eyes opaque, and then his expression changed, his mouth parted, and he turned his head slightly to one side, as though unable to view Sherlock head-on.

"Moriarty," John said, the sound souring on his tongue. "But he's dead."

"A technicality," said Sherlock. He sat down again, and promptly slumped forward, his head making a thunking sound on the table.

Aro looked startled but John shook his head in disgust.

"I told him this would happen," he said. "He's been awake for over 48 hours, it just caught up with him."

Aro giggled wildly, a variation on his high-pitched laugh, and John joined in, his relaxed rapport with Aro returning in an instant.

"Dessert?" said Aro.

"Oh of course, how could I resist?" said John, reaching for the serving dish. As he ladled out the sweet pastry, he watched Aro pour himself another glass of blood and remembered something he had said.

"If Carlisle has never killed a human, how did he survive before the blood banks?"

"Oh," said Aro, wincing. "He's a vampire 'vegetarian'. He only drinks animal blood."

"You mean, you can…? You don't actually have to drink human blood?"

"Well," Aro said, hesitating a little. "Animal blood isn't as satisfying as human blood, and there is the matter of having to kill furry animals. Carlisle took me deer hunting once and it was very traumatic. I killed a doe and as soon as I touched her, I could see in her mind the little faun she had left hidden in the woods, the child who would never see his mother again. I felt very bad, thinking about it having to grow up on its own with perhaps only woodland animals for company. I'd never do that again, it was too awful."

"Yes, I can see how…hold on, did you just use the plot of Bambi to justify killing people?" John asked incredulously.

Aro chuckled. "I may have embellished the story a little, but that really did happen. Oh I'm sorry, I must take this," he said, pulling out his humming mobile.

John watched as Aro answered the phone pleasantly and then froze, listening to whoever was on the other end. Aro quickly put the call on speaker and placed the mobile on the table.

"Alice, say that again," he said.

Sherlock woke with a start, staring at the phone.

"You have to get out of there, father," came Alice's breathless voice. "Get out, now!"

Felix and Renata came charging up the steps, splintering the door in their haste to get through it.

"Master...," began Renata.

"Take Sherlock and go," commanded Aro.

Without a word, the two vampires snatched Sherlock up and threw themselves out of the window.

"Get on my back," said Aro, turning to John.

"What?" exclaimed John, and then found himself clinging to Aro's shoulders as they swung out over the street below and climbed rapidly to the roof.

The city of London spread out below them as Aro raced over rooftops like a dark streak of light, coming to a halt at last in a part of the city that John couldn't immediately recognize.

"Who are we running from? The Romanii? And where's Sherlock?" asked John, trying to slow his rapid breath and loudly beating heart while Aro looked around, scanning the streets around them.

Now that Aro had stopped moving, John became all too aware that they were in quite a lot of physical contact. Not only was he on Aro's back with his arms wrapped around Aro's strong shoulders, Aro was holding him in place with his hands on John's thighs. Aro's body was just as cold as Aro's hands, and hard, very hard. John forced himself to think about something else entirely, hoping that Aro hadn't noticed the reaction all this contact was causing to John's own body.

"My guard are taking Sherlock to another safe house," said Aro. He bent a little and let John slip off him. "We'll join them soon, by another route I think…." He stopped, and turned slowly around. John turned too, and nearly jumped in surprise.

On the roof with them were two schoolchildren, the same that John had seen outside the morgue. A boy and girl, about fourteen, in uniforms and hoodies. The girl reached up and pulled her hood back, revealing blond hair and a face of unnerving prettiness. She smiled at them in a less than friendly way.

"Careful," breathed Aro, putting himself between John and the children. "We can do this peacefully. No one has to suffer."

John was just wondering what kind of threat two children were to Aro when the boy raised his hands, and then everything went black. He couldn't feel or hear a thing. Or move. Great, just perfect. He wondered how Sherlock was getting on.


	10. Underground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: this will hurt a little.

John let out a shuddering sigh of relief when light and sound and physical sensation flooded back to him. After enduring what had seemed to be an endless dark silence, without any idea when it might end or even if it might end, he felt as though a blindfold had been pulled from his entire body. It took him a moment to take in enough sensory input to understand where he was or what he was doing.

"What?" he gasped, feeling the hard concrete of the floor and the surface of the wall behind his back. He got an impression of a dimly-lit basement of some kind before Aro came into focus, sitting next to him, beautiful solid Aro, his dark hair and pale features like a lighthouse in a storm.

"Try not to move suddenly," Aro murmured without looking at John. "Not while you're in their line of sight."

John looked in the direction of Aro's gaze and a chill ran through him. The two children stood silent and watchful before them, eerily out of place in their school uniforms. The boy tall, dark, and disdainful. The girl shorter, blond, with a frighteningly intense expression in her large, mascara-rimmed eyes.

"Who are they?" whispered John.

"The Romanii Twins," said Aro, he smiled affectionately, still watching them. "Jane and Alec. They're much older than they appear. When they were human, their village thought they were witch children and tried to burn them at the stake. The Romanii masters had been monitoring them and were able to prevent this by turning them in time. They are the most talented of the Romanii coven." He tilted his head to one side and regarded the children with honest admiration.

"We've been knocked out…how?" said John, nervously glancing back at their captors. He didn't see weapons of any kind.

"That was Alec," said Aro. "His talent is to block the senses. And Jane's talent…well Jane is really quite extraordinary…." Aro drew out the syllables of this last word is a caressing hiss. John could see Jane react to it, a flicker of emotion running over her face before she caught herself and her expression returned to its mask-like appearance.

"Our masters will be here soon," said Alec coldly. "Save your breath, old man."

Aro smiled fondly at him and then back at the girl.

"Did you know I wanted to turn you and your brother, Jane?" said Aro.

John shivered a little, sensing the change in Aro's voice. The man was like a magnet, using his voice and his body to draw his prey in. He had used his attractive powers on John a fair bit already, enough for John to recognize it when he saw it. Now Aro was going to charm his way past a couple of psychotic Children of the Damned as though even they could fall at his feet. He really was a manipulative bastard.

"He's lying, Jane, don't listen to him," said the boy. The girl only stared at Aro like a deer in headlights.

"It wasn't just the Romanii masters who took an interest in you. We were watching you both for years, your talent was apparent even while you were human. We waited because I wanted you to get a chance to grow up, but circumstances were against us, and the Romanii got to you first. There has not been a day since that I do not regret the lost opportunity of making you mine."

"Shut up, or I'll make you," Alec snarled. John watched Aro tensely, wishing he wasn't antagonizing the boy quite so much. Did he have to divide them? Was the girl that much more powerful than her brother that it was worth it to lure her in first?

Aro's expression was one of complete and total sincerity, his wide, mesmerizing eyes fixed on Jane. "I would have loved you, you know, as my own daughter," he said, his voice soft and warmly insinuating. "You would never have felt alone again. You would have had a true family to protect and comfort you."

Jane took a faltering step toward Aro and for a moment whatever he was planning seemed to be working.

"Jane!" snapped her brother, and the sound seemed to bring her back to reality.

She stopped and her eyes turned hard. It was far easier to hurt the object of her love than to admit the possibility of being loved in return, and she did know how to hurt so well.

"Pain," she said, in a clear, bell-like voice.

Aro jerked a little, and shut his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. John reached out to him instinctively but stopped himself from touching him, he didn't know what would happen if he did, if it would make it worse or if whatever was emanating from the girl would reach him as well.

Aro's entire body was tense and straining, his fists clenched against the concrete floor. John watched in horror as hair-line cracks spidered out over Aro's skin and the skin itself was turning slightly greyish.

John looked back at Jane, her intense gaze fixed on Aro. He didn't know what she was doing to Aro, but it was clear she had no intention of stopping until Aro was well and truly wrecked.

Aro began to choke softly, struggling to repress his cries of agony and succeeding only in producing an intolerable strangling sound, the cracks in his skin spreading wider.

"Stop it!" shouted John, "can't you see you're killing him?!"

Jane smiled cruelly and kept her eyes fixed on Aro.

John made a calculated decision, Aro had warned about being in their line of sight. Both twins seemed to need to look directly at their victims. He rose stiffly to his feet and before Alec could react, stepped between the vampire girl and Aro, blocking Aro from her sight.

The pain hit him immediately. It was like nothing he had ever experienced, not even when he had been wounded in Afghanistan. It was like being plunged into fire, a fire that consumed until all was destroyed, and then consumed the nothingness that was left. He screamed and went on screaming until he passed out. A second darkness, this one mercifully without awareness.

* * *

"Another miscalculation on the part of your masters?" Sherlock inquired casually, smoothing down his dark curls after the wild run over London's rooftops with his two bodyguards.

Renata and Felix choose not to respond directly to the provocation, although Renata made a low growling noise under her breath.

Sherlock looked curiously around as they moved through the dimly-lit corridor. There was some feeling of antiquity to the space the guards were leading him down, but the construction was recent. Despite the blurring speed of their arrival in this place, he knew they were underground, most likely a passageway between safe houses, a subterranean network that would allow the vampires free movement underneath the city even in daylight.

He wasn't very surprised then when Felix pushed open a set of double-doors and they entered a high-ceilinged room filled with desks, computer screens, and conference tables, all the trappings of a prosperous organization's command center, and populated by a large number of well-dressed vampires, all of whom paused in their work and looked sharply towards the new arrivals, or rather at Sherlock specifically, some of them flaring their nostrils and covering their mouths.

Sherlock straightened his coat with a smug smile. "Like what you see?" he inquired.

"Mr. Holmes." The massively tall form and rasping voice of Aro's brother Marcus loomed over Sherlock. Instantly the other vampires in the room returned to their various activities with an attention that was far too intense to be true.

"Mr. Volturi," said Sherlock, losing his smugness as his eyes darted over the vampire and then took in several monitor screens behind him. "I take it your friends the Romanii have John and Aro."

Marcus looked behind him to the screens and then back to Sherlock. "It is unfortunate," he said. "We do not believe the Romanii intend to escalate matters so far as to destroy Aro. But they have ways of gaining information that they will want to try anyway, given the chance."

"Ways they would have tried on me tonight if their plan of attack had succeeded, now they must make do with the lesser prize" said Sherlock. He started moving around the room and peering at various seemingly unconnected things. Marcus and his bodyguards trailed him, Marcus silencing the protests of the vampires who suddenly found Sherlock underfoot with a inclination of his head or motion of his hand, effortlessly controlling the pit of blood-thirsty vipers that Sherlock was unconcernedly poking around in.

"Aro can withstand their torture," said Marcus dryly. "We are worried about your colleague however. I'm afraid it is against this possibility that my brother Caius counseled killing both of you."

"And that simply shows how little three thousand years of experience can remedy an essential stupidity of the mind," said Sherlock, wheeling on Marcus, his hands clasped behind his back. He came closer, his face barely inches from the vampire's. "You as well, with your talent, I would have expected better." He snapped off the word better in Marcus's face and waited, unmoving, for the response.

The other vampires reacted to Sherlock's open defiance of the Volturi master with unmasked shock, a few hissing in surprise.

Marcus gazed evenly back at Sherlock for a long moment. Then he folded his arms and nodded slowly. "Their bond," he said, his voice even deeper and rasping than before. "And yours. Doctor Watson is indeed very loyal in his loves."

Sherlock said nothing, only turned away, keeping eye contact with Marcus as he did so, until he was facing the woman who had arrived noiselessly and was standing behind him.

The woman was very young, a mass of dark hair, thick dark eyebrows, a pretty face and small figure. She looked like a nice person, not in the least threatening or even that important.

"How interesting," breathed Sherlock. "You really are a fascinating enigma, aren't you?"

The woman tilted her head to one side, a gesture she shared with her brother, although the quirked, amused eyebrow was all her own. "I'm not sure what you're talking about," said Didyme Volturi.

"Oh you know exactly what I mean," said Sherlock, getting close to her and looking smugly down at her upturned face. "At first I thought Alice was Aro's secret weapon, but I see now I was completely mistaken."

"I'm afraid my wife is not a weapon, secret or otherwise," growled Marcus, putting a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and smoothly drawing him back.

"Damn," muttered Sherlock, "I knew I was missing something. You're not actually all related, are you?"

"Aro is my true brother," said Didyme, "Marcus and Caius were our foster brothers."

Sherlock leaned forward, getting his face close to Didyme again despite Marcus's restraining hand. "Aro is your brother, so tell me, why does he think he should kill you?"

Didyme's mild expression faltered.

"No," Sherlock continued. "Not kill, contain. What does an innocent child like you have for a talent that would make Aro even contemplate tearing your head off?"

Didyme leaned forward, her large eyes locking with Sherlock's in an expression that was definitely not that of an innocent child.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up," she said, over-articulating each syllable.

* * *

John woke more slowly this time. His eyelids hurt when he tried to open his eyes and for a few moments he could only lie there, his head against the soothingly cool surface (the floor?) that he was lying on. As more awareness of his body seeped in, the oddness of this surface increased, it seemed to be everywhere around him, supporting and pressing against him. Moving was going to be a problem, everything hurt for one thing. Also he didn't want to disturb whatever he was lying against. He felt protected, and warm despite the coolness.

Consciousness set in completely and John's eyelids fluttered open. He saw something black, different shades, cloth, and…hair? He struggled a little to sit up and the same coolness restrained him.

"Shhh," said Aro gently. "Stay still."

Aro's face, paler than usual in the dim light, looked down at him anxiously. And John realized finally where he was, still in the basement their captors had brought them to, and lying on the floor cradled in Aro's arms, his head against the vampire's chest.

"Touching," said a man's voice mockingly. "What kind of message would it send to your coven, do you think, if we drained him and left him on his own doorstep? No place is safe, perhaps?"

"Your quarrel is not with humans," said Aro, his voice soft. His arms tightened possessively around John.

"No, you're right, however since our quarrel is with you, anything and everything of yours is fair game, is it not?" A different voice this time. Both sounded somewhat foreign, some undefinable European accent.

John struggled again, his limbs working better this time, and managed to lever himself up enough to see who they were talking to. Stefan and Vladimir, the fake Interpol agents, standing in front of them with the twins waiting deferentially behind. The two men definitely looked more sinister in this context, particularly since their eyes were now a deep, rich red. Was that what all their eyes looked like? Even Aro's? It was enough to scare the daylights out of anyone, the eyes of demons and predators.

"What do you hope to gain here?" asked Aro, continuing in the same soft tone. "We both know your victory cannot be assured simply by killing me."

"It would certainly advance it," said the first one, the younger albino.

"It would mean open warfare and the involvement of other covens," returned Aro.

"How about if we crack your brain open and make you tell us all your secrets?" said the second one, older and dark. "That would most certainly advance our cause."

"I respect Jane's abilities with all my heart," said Aro, "but surely you don't expect me to break under torture?"

"We might torture your human pet," said the albino.

"John doesn't know anything of real importance."

John involuntarily shifted a little in panic. He wasn't sure if he'd survive Jane's talent a second time. He sincerely hoped Aro had a plan, and that it involved everyone getting out alive.

"John doesn't need to know anything," said the second one in a sing-songy voice. He came closer and leaned close to Aro. "John just needs to suffer while you watch until you break down and tell us what we want to know."

John sucked in his breath sharply as the Romanii master seized his shirt sleeve in his fist. Aro's hands moved in a blur and closed around the back of John's head and his jaw, poised to twist.

"I won't let him be tortured to death," said Aro slowly and evenly. "And I will not tell you what you want to know."

The Romanii's hand remained twisted in the material of John's shirt and Aro's hands remained around his head. John's breath came in short gasps. He closed his eyes tightly, bracing himself for the quick jerk of Aro's hands, the crack, the nothingness, irreparable this time.

Then suddenly there was a rush of movement in the room, dark shadows blurred, struck, crashed into the walls. There was a high-pitched scream as Jane's talent hit someone and then a sound like a metallic shrieking that surely couldn't be a voice. Aro's hands shifted and he pulled John to his feet, backing him away from the action and up against the nearest wall, trying to shield him with his body. John's heart was beating fast and he had to hold onto Aro for support as his body felt weak and shaky. For an improbable moment, their faces were close, close enough to kiss if they wanted to, if they weren't in the middle of a battle.

The sounds of fighting died down, Aro stepped away and surveyed the remains of the fight. The Romanii masters had disappeared, along with the boy, but the girl remained, or what was left of her. Three people stood, waiting respectfully for Aro. The pinstriped young man John remembered from the Volturi Building, and two shockingly beautiful women. At their feet were various parts of Jane, still twitching. John had seen similar sights in Afghanistan, people torn apart by bombs, but this was different, there was a surprising lack of blood for one thing.

Aro bent down and lifted one of the pieces gently. Jane's blond head. He held it carefully, stroking the disarranged hair.

John looked at it sharply, surprised to see that Jane's eyes were open and aware, even though her face seemed to be paralyzed.

"Is she…is she still alive?" he asked.

"Oh yes," said Aro. He smiled reassuringly at John. "We can put her back together. She'll be good as new in a few days." He handed the head to the nearest woman. "Pack her up," he said, "and let my brothers know I am well." He motioned to John and started heading for the door.

"We can just walk out of here?" John said disbelievingly. "They're not waiting for us?"

"My guard have this place surrounded, we're perfectly safe now," said Aro. "Come, we should get you to my family. Your flat is a little more open to attack than we anticipated so you'll have to stay with us for a while."

They exited the basement through a circuitous series of steps and hallways, emerging at last into the night, a wide alleyway with the street beyond. John took a deep breath, it was a relief to be above ground again, in the light of streetlamps, among human habitation.

Aro was watching him with a thoughtful expression. "That was very brave of you, protecting me from Jane," he said.

John smiled. "And now you say 'but it was also very stupid'."

"No," said Aro, still thoughtful. "Just brave."

He looked at John for a moment more and then turned and started to walk in the direction of the street, but John had really had enough.

"Aro…" he said, grabbing at Aro's sleeve and stopping him.

John wasn't sure what he was going to say after that but Aro seemed to understand anyway. He wheeled back on John and seizing his face in his hands, kissed him, a fully realized kiss, their lips fitting effortlessly together and John's hands slipping upwards into Aro's thick hair.

They might be in terrible danger still, and no place was truly safe, but that could all go to hell as far as John was concerned.


	11. Written in Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief mention of suicide.

Aro's mobile started humming as soon as they got into the car waiting for them outside the alleyway.

"Caius," said Aro, seeing John looking at him inquiringly. "There's going to be hell to pay now, he didn't want me to leave the house tonight...hello, I'm fine, nothing to worry about."

Aro was silent for a few moments while Caius evidently told him exactly how not fine everything really was. Aro smiled pleasantly at John and was making a gesture to indicate that Caius might go on talking for some time when his eyes suddenly widened in alarm and he froze with his hand in the air.

"What's happening?" John whispered urgently. "Is it Sherlock?"

Aro put his hand on John's arm reassuringly, his expression changing from agitated to fiercely authoritative.

"No, no Caius, absolutely not."

More talking on the other end, interrupted by Aro. "No, do not kill him, do you understand? Under no circumstances do you kill him. No, not just until I get back, don't do it at all."

Aro listened a bit more and then sighing, lowered his phone and thumbed it off.

"I take it that was your brother phoning to say he doesn't like Sherlock anymore?" asked John casually.

"Caius has always been a little over-fond of decisive action," said Aro, "but your friend is safe, so long as he doesn't apply deduction to any more sensitive coven secrets."

"God, like what?"

"Oh nothing," said Aro, putting his phone back in his jacket and turning to John, "look at me."

"Hm?" said John, thrown off guard by Aro's change in subject matter.

"Watch, I'm going to compartmentalize," said Aro cheerfully, and he shifted in a single fluid movement so that he was straddling John on the seat, carefully keeping his weight off of him, both hands braced on either side of John's head. He appeared suddenly darkly predatory, like nothing so much as a serpent about to strike, his large eyes seeming to glow with a glint of red as the light of the street lamps caught them. John's heartbeat sped up and he instinctively squeezed back into the car's interior, his eyes widening and his breathing getting shallow. He felt confusingly both seriously aroused and completely terrified.

"So by compartmentalizing, you mean we're just going to completely avoid the subject of what's happening with Sherlock right now?" said John, moistening his lips and speaking with a certain degree of difficulty.

"Exactly," said Aro, baring his teeth a little and rolling the word over his tongue, his gaze flicking down to John's mouth as he spoke.

"And this works for you, ignoring the whole Sherlock case-solving, Romanii attacks, kidnapping by children, Moriarty, end of the world situation?" stuttered John, trying to shrink back still further.

"Oh it works for me perfectly," said Aro. He hissed the final word against John's cheek, drawing out its syllables, and John gasped, scrabbling uselessly at the leather seat.

Aro dipped his head to John's neck and pressed his mouth lightly to the underside of his jaw. John made a small involuntary whimper as Aro's chill touched him but he reached for Aro when their lips met, fisting his hands in the front of his jacket as Aro coaxed his mouth open. He shivered a little and then relaxed completely, sinking down further in the seat, warmth spreading through him as Aro's skillful tongue moved sensuously in his mouth, searching and caressing. Aro tasted like honey, like sunlight, like something primal and original. John moaned, pressing as much of his body as possible against him.

Just when John thought he was going to pass out from oxygen deprivation, Aro pulled back a little, breaking the kiss, and smiled sweetly at him, normal again.

"You're certainly very intense," said John, trying to soften his heavy breathing.

"And you like it," returned Aro smugly.

"I won't just walk away, you know," said John, turning serious. He reached up and touched the fall of dark hair that hung down past Aro's shoulder, threading its silken strands through his fingers. "I don't have a fantasy of who you are, you don't have to pretend to be different, or try to impress me with your whole dark lord thing. I just want to be with you."

Aro grinned, looking inexpressibly happy, and leaned his forehead against John's as though completely overcome.

"But of course you heard all that in my mind," said John, grinning too from Aro's infectious pleasure, as Aro's cool mouth brushed over his nose and chin before the sleekly dark head descended to his neck, making John draw in his breath sharply and clutch at Aro's hair.

Aro raised his head and smiled, almost to himself, a small secret smile of joy. "It's different hearing you speak, hearing you choose what to say, knowing that you're saying what you feel," he explained, and grinned broadly.

John leaned forward and gently pushed Aro off of him, turning him by his shoulders so that their positions were reversed. Aro let John maneuver him back up against the seat, little sparks of need flashing through his changeable expression. John settled himself firmly on top of Aro's lap and took his face in his hands with an expression of resolution that, in combination with his thoughts, seemed to disarm the vampire completely.

"John," Aro whispered, just before John kissed him, and then again in a more hushed undertone, "John," when John began kissing over his face with a possessive tenderness.

The car slowed to a halt, with a slight lurch that signaled their arrival rather than just another traffic light. They could hear Aro's guard getting out of the front, and the sound of others coming to meet them, talking in low voices with the alertness of people dealing with a difficult set of contingencies.

"Damn," muttered John wistfully. "You actually did make me forgot there was a whole crisis thing going on out there."

Aro laughed, turning his head toward the conversation outside to hear better, his pale and distinctively lovely profile making John feel as though something supremely wonderful was happening to his heart.

"What are they saying?" asked John.

"Just making sure the place is secure, and that the Romanii have gone to ground."

Aro turned back abruptly, pulled John to him with a hand on the back of his head, and kissed him with a passion that earlier events had only hinted at.

"We'll pick this up later," he murmured, releasing John, who could only nod, breathless and shaky, leaning against Aro for support.

The passenger door nearest the curb was wrenched open and John looked over, startled, to see Aro's coldly beautiful younger brother glaring in at them.

"If you've quite finished dry humping the servants, Aro, do you think we could make some real progress on crises management here?" inquired Caius sarcastically.

John actually blushed but Aro chuckled in affectionate amusement. "Good to see you too, brother."

* * *

Aro slipped his hand into Caius's as they made their way through the Volturi building's lobby and down a set of stairs to the floor below.

"Is Sherlock ok?" asked John anxiously, walking on the other side of Aro.

"I haven't drunk his blood yet, if that's what you mean," said Caius.

"Well, yes, that's, er, a start. So by yet...?"

"Sherlock is perfectly fine, just very impatient," said Aro soothingly.

"I can think of a few other people who are very impatient right now, impatient enough to risk all out war," snapped Caius, but his fingers interlaced with Aro's tightly.

_They might have killed you outright, you've been risking your life far too much._

"We went into this with our eyes open," said Aro, "there was bound to be some danger involved."

"You think the Romanii might attack before they're ready?" asked John.

"Why is it still talking?" inquired Caius scathingly.

"Um, because it's still in the room?" said John, looking innocent.

Aro suppressed a grin. "Alice doesn't think so," he said. "Everything she's seen indicates they're simply trying to unnerve us, force us to make the first move."

They had arrived at an antechamber, spare and unassuming. Aro turned to John and smiled at him a little regretfully, cupping his cheek for a brief moment. John peaked his eyebrows questioningly but Aro turned away before he could ask what was going on, and swung the doors open, revealing a huge, mostly empty room, with three chairs arranged on a raised dais in the middle. Marcus was seated on the left and Alice sat next to him, looking poised and elegant in a dark suit similar to Aro's.

John paused, his eyes widening, and then he rushed forward with a shout of outrage. "Sherlock!"

His boots rang against the marble floor as he ran to the base of the dais, where Felix and Renata were standing with Sherlock kneeling between them, firmly grasping each of his arms.

"John," said Sherlock, obviously relieved to see him. "You're still alive, I take it."

"Have they hurt you?" demanded John, touching his friend's face but finding no sign of violence.

"Oh fine, fine, couldn't be better," said Sherlock caustically, "I see you and Aro have been getting to know each other, good thing he's such a great kisser, I'm sure it makes up for the demonic, blood-drinking overlord of hell thing quite nicely."

John turned to face Aro, who had come to stand near him, his face wearing its dangerously neutral expression, his eyes fixed blankly on Sherlock.

"You said you weren't going to hurt him!" John nearly shouted. "Let him go, he's on your side!"

"That's enough, human," hissed Caius, suddenly nose to nose with John and managing to tower over him. "Don't think you get special treatment here, not in this place."

"Caius," said Aro gently, and the blond vampire backed away, still fixing John with a look of pure disgust, before turning and ascending the dais to take his seat in the third chair.

"John, please," said Aro, even more gently, motioning to him to move back.

John set his jaw and instead stepped between Aro and Sherlock, folding his arms. "We entered into this in good faith," he said firmly. "Whatever he's found out, it's been in the course of investigating on your behalf."

The world around John dissolved into a blur and he suddenly found himself transposed behind Aro, back to back, Aro's right hand still touching John's hip from moving him.

"You will cease your current line of inquiry, Mr. Holmes," said Aro.

John made an attempt to move and Aro's hand closed on him like a vise so that he could only stand and listen.

"We need to talk about your sister," said Sherlock, his voice deepening with menace.

"My sister has nothing to do with this," interrupted Aro firmly.

"She has everything to do with this, and you know it," replied Sherlock. "Her talent..."

"We do not speak of her talent," said Aro, cutting him off.

"And you think that's good enough? That makes it all go away?" mocked Sherlock.

John glanced at Aro's family nervously but they appeared to be patiently watching, observers while Aro held the weight of action.

"She used her talent once only, and she has taken a vow never to use it again," returned Aro levelly, ignoring the implied insult.

"Well I think once was enough, don't you?" said Sherlock quietly.

John felt Aro's body tense against him, and his gaze was drawn upward again to the three who sat in judgement. Caius's eyebrows rose and he half-stood, gripping the arms of his chair. Marcus looked subtly older, his expression inward, as though seeing something that should not be seen. Alice was unreadable, a mask of self-restraint to rival her father's. John squinted, trying to understand.

"No one knows," said Aro, his voice so neutral that it sounded flat and unnatural. "Not even you."

"It's my profession to know," returned Sherlock. "What else am I here for?"

"The Romanii..." said Caius, his voice taut with what could have been either anger or fear.

"Immortality is wasted on the stupid," said Sherlock dismissively. "They would never have figured it out, not on their own. But Moriarty knew."

"How can you be sure?" asked Marcus in a despairing voice.

"Because it is the basis of his final act of destruction," said Sherlock.

"I believe it is time I read your mind, Mr. Holmes," said Aro softly. He released John and brought his hands together.

"No!" snapped Sherlock, lunging forward against his captors and causing Felix and Renata to move with him in an effort to keep him intact.

John spun around, surprised at the intensity of his friend's reaction.

Sherlock was glaring fiercely at Aro. "If you read my mind, that's it, we are finished," he said, enunciating carefully and biting off the last syllable. "I will immediately cease thinking about your problem, and you will never know enough to prevent its execution in reality."

"Can he do this?" asked Aro, without looking around.

"Yes," said Alice in her clear voice. "I have seen it."

Sherlock smiled unpleasantly up at Aro, his mouth curving into a wide v-shape.

Aro looked suddenly very tired, his shoulders slumping a little. He shot a glance at John who was relieved to find that his expression was normal again, without the frightening blankness of the moment before.

"You put us in a very difficult position, you know," said Aro, stepping back. "Ordinarily you'd be dead by now, with everything you know."

As though in response, Felix and Renata released Sherlock and he stood quickly, smoothing down his jacket sleeves with casual ease.

"You put yourself in that position," said Sherlock. "The moment you decided to keep your sister alive." He moved to stand before the dais, looking dark and dramatic in the pale, marble room.

"Death," he said, his voice deepening again. "That's what you've been sheltering all this time. A doomsday machine that you cannot bear to destroy."

"Sherlock," whispered John urgently, painfully aware of the dangerous amount of attention Sherlock was currently getting. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It started out innocently, didn't it?" said Sherlock, ignoring John and addressing the three on the dais, who watched as still as statues. "You thought her talent was for making people happy, a simple, friendly little talent, not very useful to the coven but valuable on a personal level because you loved her. And then the mistake happened. The Romanii thought they'd handle the upstart little coven from Volterra before it got too interfering, so they decided to target the leader they thought was the biggest threat, the one who could see ties of loyalty and betrayal. They nearly succeeded too, enough that his mate at least believed he was dead."

Sherlock was starting to enjoy himself now, too much. John made a futile shushing gesture and then gave up when Sherlock waved him back impatiently.

"And that's when you knew just how far she could go," continued Sherlock, drawing out the words. "Because it wasn't that she had a talent for making people happy, she just had a talent for making people feel what she felt, and up until then she has been nothing but happy."

"Stop," said Aro quietly. "You don't need to remind us what happened."

"Don't I?" asked Sherlock, wheeling around at him and moving slowly forward so that their faces were unblinkingly close. "A coven of thousands burned themselves alive because of your sister, because suddenly all they could feel was the soul-crushing loss of a mate, because she made them think their world was ending, that their life had no purpose any longer. And afterward, when you had taken the advantage and unseated the Romanii, you had a decision to make. Keep your sister and risk another genocide, or kill her and lose your brother, someone so valuable and beloved that you were prepared to risk the future of your species for him. You think you have enemies but obviously they're nothing what you're capable of doing to yourself. Behind that cold hard facade you're just another soft, cringing, clinging, pathetic..."

Sherlock broke off abruptly, just as John was starting to feel his own heartbeat ringing in his ears.

Aro tilted his head to one side, puzzled, but Sherlock appeared to be frozen in place, his eyes fixed on some point just past Aro's shoulder.

"Idiot," said Sherlock, still staring, his voice as low as a whisper. He winced, shutting his eyes tightly before opening them and meeting Aro's questioning gaze.

Something had changed between them and John dared to get near them again.

"Sherlock," he said gently, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. Sherlock seemed to come back to himself a little more, and he turned his head to look at John, his narrow eyes darker than usual, full of pain.

"I know what Moriarty's plan is, or at least the beginning of it," said Sherlock, searching for support in John's face. "He really was a clever bastard, I have to acknowledge that."

"He knew you would come looking for me," Sherlock continued, turning back to Aro and speaking with added intensity. "He knew you would seek out my help, the opposite side of the coin. And he never doubted I would deduce the nature of your secret weapon, just the same as he did. How to use it, amplify it, spread it, a puzzle I wouldn't be able to resist solving. After that he just needed someone to read my mind, someone who only has to be in the same vicinity to know exactly what I'm thinking. Someone or some people so fanatical that they would actually want to destroy themselves and their entire species in the name of their cause. They couldn't know too much, in case you read their minds, but in any case they didn't need to know in advance. All Moriarty had to do was commission them to acquire me in the event of his death. I'm the trigger, if the Cullens find the answer in my mind, they will not stop until they've carried it out, the answer they've been looking for all their immortal lives, the way to finally cleanse their souls."

"Are you telling me you've solved this puzzle?" asked Aro, his voice soft and insinuating.

Sherlock was silent, his lips pressed together.

Behind him on the dais, Alice gasped, her eyes wide, and then she stood and screamed, a terrible high sobbing wail that ended abruptly as Aro appeared by her side in a streak of shadow, clutching her tightly and pressing her head against his chest.

Sherlock didn't move, shutting his eyes again, but John, turning, saw Aro put his hand over the back of Alice's bare neck. He seemed to convulse for a moment as though electricity had run from her skin to his, and he buried his face in her shoulder, pulling her down so that they knelt together like two battered survivors of an apocalypse.

Vampire overlords be damned, thought John, and he squared his shoulders and crossed over to mount the dais, reaching Aro and Alice just as Caius rose and laid his pale hand on Aro's dark hair. John knelt and put his hand on Aro's, willing Aro to make his way out of Alice's vision. Looking up, his eyes met those of Caius, and he found, without surprise, an acknowledgement of their common interest. Caius nodded briefly and John returned the gesture. For the moment, at least, they were on the same side.

"You should kill me now," said Sherlock, still without turning around. "Now rather than later would really be a good time." He lifted his arms out, as though inviting his own dismemberment.

"No," said Marcus heavily. He rose stiffly to his feet. "No more killing."

Aro raised his head and pressed his face against Alice's sleek hair, easing her back. His hands shook a little as he did so, but one caught hold of John's hand and grasped it tightly. "No one else has to die," he said in a low voice, echoing John's words from the night before. "Do they, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was silent again, facing away into the future, the heat of a thousand bonfires reflected in his eyes. While behind him Aro waited for an answer, the memory of burning in those obliterating flames seared into his mind forever.

* * *

The door swung open, heavy and ornate, revealing a relatively comfortable sitting room, albeit somewhat small, surprisingly comfortable actually considering it was a jail cell.

"You're wasting time," said Sherlock, looking around it from the doorway.

"Just trust us for once," said Renata, behind him.

Sherlock sighed and went in and threw himself onto the large sofa, noting without enthusiasm, the covered tray of food and the pot of coffee on the table next to him.

Renata closed the door and he heard it lock. He sat up and pressed his palms together in front of his mouth, leaning his elbows on his knees. There was only one thing to do and he did it, shutting his eyes and entering his mind palace, wandering down its marble halls and doors of gleaming gold until he found the one he wanted, the vault. He bundled together everything he had thought about the case and buried it deep inside, shutting and sealing the vault's impenetrable doors and leaning against them, out of breath. Sherlock's eyes opened, the side table and silver tray coming into focus again.

Now all he could do was wait.

* * *

"So, what's this room then?" asked John, pausing just inside what looked like a particularly expensive hotel room placed inside an Edwardian study.

"This is my private chamber," Aro replied, whispering seductively in John's ear and slipping his arm around him from behind.

John's heart skipped several beats and then made up for it in double-time. He swallowed hard, simultaneously cold and sweaty. "Oh?" he managed, his voice a little higher pitched than usual.

Aro chuckled and released him. "Relax, it's just a very nice guest bedroom. My chamber doesn't actually have a bed in it."

"Oh," repeated John, a little deflated. He went over to the bed and sat down. "Do you want to talk about anything?" he asked, "your sister, er, the end of the world, that kind of thing?"

Aro shook his head and came to sit next to John. The single lamp in the room cast a soft glow on both of them, and John felt comfortable again, taking Aro's hand in his.

"You don't know what this is like for me," said Aro meditatively. "Being so close with someone who's..." he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Boring?" asked John, smiling a little.

"Nice," said Aro. "I was going to say nice."

"Ok," said John, considering this. "Nice."

Aro turned, nudging John back onto the bed so that they were lying side by side, facing each other.

"I like nice," said Aro softly, reaching out to touch John's sandy hair. "Niceness is so rare."

John smiled, and Aro smiled back, and for a while they stayed like that, their fingers interlaced on the bedspread, until John's eyelids fluttered for a moment and he suppressed a yawn.

"You should sleep," said Aro, he turned to lie on his back, his dark hair pooling around him. "I'll stay here with you."

In answer, John shifted closer and swung his leg over Aro's hips, propping himself up on his elbows to take Aro's head in his hands. He kissed him slowly, feeling the vampire trying to make himself as soft and yielding as he could underneath him, then moved down, pressing his lips along the curve of Aro's neck, and against the thin material of his shirt, down to his hard stomach, before moving back up and laying his face against Aro's chest, above his still heart, articulate even in its silence. John sighed deeply and gradually let his body go limp, allowing the fog of sleep to roll in, while Aro's arms cradled him and held him fast.


	12. Justice for All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: non-graphic character death.

Sherlock emerged onto the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital slowly and somberly, as though entering an arena. He granted a small, thin-lipped smile to the two men who waited for him, sitting casually on the parapet.

"Careful," he said, circling in front of them but keeping his distance. "Sun might come out at any moment, wouldn't want to get shown up now, would we?" His smile deepened, curving maliciously upward.

Edward nodded contemptuously. "So you know we're vampires."

"How could I not?" asked Sherlock rhetorically, continuing to pace, his collar turned up and his long coat making him stand out dramatically against the steel-grey sky, unhurried and undisturbed by his unearthly companions.

"When you contacted us, we assumed you were willing to help the CIA with our investigations," said Carlisle in an even tone of voice. "I must admit, I was relieved to find you still alive. We know about the attack on your flat last night, the Romanii..."

"Speaking of whom," said Sherlock, squinting up at the clouds, which were indeed starting to show signs of breaking up in places. "I invited them along, hope you don't mind. They should be here, yes, any minute now."

The Cullens rose to their feet quickly, on guard, catching the scent of the approaching Romanii before they heard their footsteps ascending to the roof.

Carlisle looked over at Edward questioningly and got only a frustrated shake of his head in reply. Sherlock's mind had gone dark again, offering nothing but the static of some exhaustive thoughts on shaving cream lather and its potentially lethal applications.

"So you also know we're not with the CIA then, I take it," said Carlisle dryly.

Sherlock smirked derisively but did not reply.

"And the Volturi rescued you," continued the older vampire, his tone implying a lack of understanding that Sherlock was welcome to correct. "We weren't entirely certain until now..."

"Don't play the naive fool," said Sherlock, rounding on him. "You're just embarrassing yourself." He clicked his teeth together, snapping out the last syllables.

Carlisle looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded, losing his expression of milky friendliness. The shift didn't have the same dramatic effect that Aro's terrifying expression of glee usually generated, but the change in his eyes from kind authority figure to dangerous predator was enough to unsettle anyone.

Sherlock simply looked amused, and turned, deliberately showing his back to the vampires as he faced the entrance to the roof. The footsteps the Cullens had been listening for so intensely, became loud enough even for a human to register, and the door swung open to reveal the two ancients, one tall and dark, the other shorter and almost completely white.

"The hunters," said the taller one, as a statement of fact.

"This is a surprise," said the albino, with the same flat, unemotional tone of voice.

They circled, trying to place themselves strategically around Sherlock without acknowledging his presence. With the same guarded patience, the Cullens did the same, both pairs rotating around Sherlock while he stood in place, surveying them with an observant quirk of his eyebrow.

"Good day, my lords, I hope we are not intruding on your affairs," said Carlisle, bowing his head politely. Edward had lost his disdainful sulk and was looking alarmed, his eyes wide.

"So Aro has sent for reinforcements, that is interesting, isn't it brother Vladimir?" said the taller one.

"It is indeed, brother Stefan," said Vladimir, and he showed his teeth in a feral snarl.

"We have never worked for the Volturi, they disavowed us long ago," said Carlisle, his voice calm and precise. His mask of kindness had returned, and his expression was superficially earnest.

"That is of no matter to us," said Stefan. "Now go and pursue your virtuous cause somewhere else, and leave us to our own prey."

"We will not leave without this man, he is also our prey," said Carlisle, still polite.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the Romanii, daring them to fight for him.

"Everyone knows you value humans over vampires," said Vladimir disbelievingly. "What possible reason would you have for hunting this mortal?"

"The only reason you would have is if the Volturi hired you," said Stefan.

"Are you always this stupid?" asked Sherlock with genuine interest.

Stefan seemed to notice him for the first time. "Be quiet, detective, we'll deal with you soon enough."

"Going to make me talk?" Sherlock said. He moved forward, getting far too close to Stefan for even his own personal comfort, the adrenaline making his nostrils flare and his lungs feel scorched with heat.

Stefan glared at him furiously and grabbed hold of his collar with one fist, pulling him closer. "I see you're exactly like the last one," he spat. "Another mortal who thinks his mental abilities put him above vampires. But you'll kneel at our feet and give us exactly what we want, just the same."

"And will you utterly fail to protect me from your enemies, just as you did with the last one?" asked Sherlock mockingly.

"No..." whispered Edward in shock. Carlisle looked at him sharply.

"What did you say to the mind-reader?" demanded Vladimir, catching hold of the back of Sherlock's coat.

"I just informed him that you both share a mutual business associate, I thought he had a right to know," said Sherlock smugly.

"Why would they work with Moriarty?" asked Stefan, giving Sherlock's collar an extra twist. Sherlock choked and grasped Stefan's hands, ineffectually trying to pull them from his throat.

"Why would Moriarty work with you?" asked Carlisle in a quiet tone. "He told us he hated vampires."

Sherlock made a strangled noise and Stefan released him, causing him to stumble back against Vladamir's restraining grip.

"Ask yourself what he was doing," rasped Sherlock, "taking on the last remaining members of the original Romanii coven as clients, and then seeking out the services of the only known vampire hunters."

"A fail-safe," growled Vladamir, and shoved Sherlock away angrily. "He meant to betray us to the Volturi if we did not protect him sufficiently."

"You really haven't been paying attention, have you?" asked Sherlock, rubbing his sore neck. "The Volturi have nothing to do with this." He whirled around on the Cullens, pointing an accusing finger at them but continuing to address the Romanii. "Ask yourself who would consider slaughtering their entire species to be a good thing."

"Moriarty hired you to assassinate every vampire in existence, Cullen?" Stefan laughed harshly. "How long do you propose to take in such an endeavor?"

Sherlock kept his eyes on the Cullens, watching them for any change in expression, his gaze darting between them.

"He hired us to find you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Carlisle. "And to read your thoughts. His request was straightforward and we saw no reason not to help him."

"Oh good lord, you are idiotically naive, aren't you?" said Sherlock in exasperation. "I keep thinking it's an act but you really are that dim."

"Stop playing with us, human," said Stefan menacingly.

"Yes," said Sherlock, his voice dropping several octaves. "I think this has gone on quite long enough." He focused his gaze on Edward and was silent, watching the younger vampire's expression morph from surprise to wild amazement to cold calculation.

"Edward...?" Carlisle's voice was low and cautioning. "What are you seeing?"

"A way out," said Edward. He smiled radiantly at the Romanii. "A way to end this forever."

The Romanii shifted in growing apprehension.

"So now you know," said Sherlock.

"Yes," said Edward, his expression turning to one of extreme ecstasy. "Now I see why he wanted us to find you. So he was a true believer after all."

"What is this?" Stefan demanded, his voice crackling with panic.

"Edward," hissed Carlisle, "don't say another word."

"Why not?" said Edward eagerly. "Why not, when all we have to do is..."

Carlisle lunged for him, pressing his hand over his son's mouth. "Don't, don't even think it, whatever abyss has been promised you, do not think it," he pleaded in desperation.

For a few minutes now, Sherlock had been aware of a distant buzzing sound, now it became louder, much louder. Wind whipped across the roof, hard enough to make him drop to his knees, a steadying hand on the rooftop. Everyone looked up at the black helicopter hovering overhead, remaining frozen in place as it descended, its cruel blades slicing through the air until it came to rest on the hospital's landing pad.

"We have to get out of here," said Carlisle urgently, and started to drag Edward over to the edge of the roof.

"No," said Stefan vehemently, shifting in a blur to block his way. "Whatever crime you've committed, we are not interested in taking the blame."

The helicopter doors swung open and several cloaked figures descended, some moving quickly to seize Carlisle and Edward, forcing them down.

Carlisle gazed up despairingly at the hooded man standing before him. "Please," he said, "have mercy..." He stopped, as though he had run out of breath, when Aro lowered his hood, revealing an expression of somber blankness. Carlisle knew that look, had seen it often enough during his time with the Volturi, when the brothers had passed judgement on some unlucky soul. He had made himself think of it when Aro came to him afterward full of affection, had thought of it even when Aro was touching him, to remind himself of the hell he had descended into.

"Does he know?" asked Aro quietly.

"Yes," said Sherlock behind him. "He knows."

"What? What does he know?!" shouted Vladimir impatiently, pressing past Aro's bodyguards to reach him.

"How to destroy us all," said Aro, not turning his head. "Moriarty knew, and because Sherlock is his equal, he was certain that this knowledge would outlive his demise. He hired the Cullens to find Sherlock, knowing that he would deduce what Moriarty already had, and that this one," he indicated Edward, "would read his thoughts and carry out Moriarty's final wishes."

"Impossible," said Stefan. "How could such a thing be done?"

"Who would want to find out?" asked Aro, turning now to face the Romanii, his expression turning fierce. "Isn't it enough to have witnessed a hint of it? Why would you tempt fate when I tell you the massacre of your coven was nothing compared to the devastation that this fanatic could unleash?"

The Romanii flinched visibly, and Stefan looked sideways at Edward, sullen and defiant on his knees, as though he were too terrible a sight to be seen head-on.

"The same, the same...?" Vladimir tried and failed to ask his question but Sherlock answered anyway.

"Think of what the human race has achieved," he said, his voice heavy and completely lacking in his earlier taunting sarcasm. "First a little destruction here and there, now we can obliterate whole continents with the push of a button. Moriarty simply had to apply this principle to vampire laws of physics."

Stefan swallowed hard and met Aro's gaze with eyes that were fever-bright.

Aro shifted his gaze to Edward, letting him see his mind for the first time.

"It would have worked," said Edward, looking away across the rooftops. "I would have been able to do it. Moriarty would have ensured the safety of his entire species forever. The human race would have been saved, do you understand?"

"Yes," said Aro softly. "I understand genocide, but I cannot condone it."

Carlisle looked imploringly at his son, and Edward, listening to his thoughts, smiled.

"I love you too, father," he said.

Aro's gaze slid upwards to the guards who held Edward. Felix and Demetri, still cloaked and hooded, nodded in acknowledgement.

Sherlock ignored the scene of dismemberment and came to stand by Aro, leaning in close.

"You didn't want him to see the kind of work you do," he said coldly. "That's why you made him stay behind."

Aro turned his face to him, still blank. "He has seen enough of pain," he replied quietly. "I will always want to spare him more."

Sherlock examined Aro's expression, and took a step back. "I believe you," he said, and folded his hands behind his back. In front of them a fire burned momentarily before disappearing into smoke. But it was only a single column, fading quickly into the clouded sky.

Aro moved forward and took Carlisle's face in his hands, cradling his head gently. Carlisle closed his eyes, resigned now that Edward was dead, simply waiting for the end. Aro took in his thoughts and memories, and then heaved a sigh, smoothing his thumbs over the vampire's cheekbones. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his former lover's forehead, let his hands drop and shifted back.

"You are not complicit, my dear Carlisle," said Aro.

"I would have helped him." Carlisle turned his head away, not wanting to see Aro's blank expression slowly turning into one of concern.

"But you cannot now. I think it is time you returned to the coven. You will have limited freedoms of course, possibly none at all to begin with, but the street is no place for you any longer."

"I don't want this, I don't want a second chance." Carlisle's voice thickened.

"Too bad," said Aro, and turned to the waiting Romanii. Their aggressive stance had turned to guarded watchfulness and they kept an eye on the Volturi guard around them, all standing just a little too close.

"Well," continued Aro, clasping his hands in front of him and interlacing his fingers. "I could now level charges against you both if I wanted to, you know."

"You couldn't," said Stefan, with a hint of uncertainty. "The covens would see how weak you are..."

"They would see that you not only risked the secrecy of our species through stupid attention-seeking stunts, you also revealed us to a mortal you hired, someone who, because of your inability to protect him, very nearly brought about the end of the vampire world altogether. I would think we'd be able to acquire the necessary support." Aro's voice trailed off, like a whisper in the dark.

The Romanii exchanged panicked looks.

"What terms do you impose?" asked Vladimir.

"I want everything Moriarty gave you," said Aro, and he smiled sweetly, with disturbing inappropriateness. "Absolutely everything."

"What about the human?" demanded Stefan, glaring at Sherlock. "Why is he still alive if he knows how to destroy us?"

"Because he has no interest in pursuing the matter further," said Aro. "His loyalty has been tested."

"But he's a human, what loyalty can he have to his natural predators? He should at least be changed."

"I'd rather die, thanks all the same," said Sherlock dryly.

"That can be arranged," growled Vladimir.

"No," said Aro firmly. "He lives, and since if he is turned, he will despise those who made him so, he is more loyal as a human than as one of us."

"You can't just change the rules as it suits you," returned Stefan angrily.

"Sherlock is...special," said Aro, putting a protective hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "The rules will always be different for him."

Sherlock, his mouth stretching into an impossible v-shape, smiled horribly at the Romanii with such evident enjoyment that they avoided looking at him.

"Yes," said Stefan. "Perhaps it would be better after all if he remained human. I think he would be completely unbearable as an immortal."

* * *

John looked up from the magazine he had been sightlessly turning the pages of for the last hour as the doors to Aro's office opened and Aro walked in, with Sherlock close behind.

He tossed the magazine onto the nearby table and rose to meet Aro who went straight to him and took his hand, leaning his forehead against John's with a small sigh. John reached up and caressed Aro's face reassuringly, although as to what he was reassuring him about, he could only speculate.

"The Romanii have backed down," said Sherlock smugly, coming to stand next to John. "Cullen junior is dead, Cullen senior is in the family vault."

"Are you alright?" asked John, pulling back a little so he could see Aro's expression.

Aro nodded briefly, not meeting his eyes, and turned to Sherlock, still holding John's hand in his, but loosely, as though John might pull away at any moment.

"You are free to go back to your lives, both of you."

"You're quite certain? Even with everything we know? Aren't we violating at least five of your precious laws just by existing?" asked Sherlock sarcastically.

"We've had to...bend the rules a little," said Aro. "Technically you will both remain on our payroll, which allows us to share what would normally be secret information with you. You will also remain under our protection of course."

"And your sister?" asked Sherlock. "Moriarty's threat will never truly go away so long as she lives."

Aro finally looked at John, meeting with relief his open and trusting gaze.

"She has to live," said Aro. "You were right, of course, Sherlock. I need Marcus, and Marcus needs Didyme. My responsibility as the guardian of the vampire world might out-rank my responsibility as a brother sometimes, but I couldn't do what I do without Marcus and that will never change."

Sherlock regarded him with a level expression. "Fine," he said. "We'll be on our way then, I'm assuming you'll send a check in the mail." He started for the door, adding an impatient, "come along John."

John made a what-can-I-do-it's-Sherlock gesture to Aro, who smiled and leaned in to give him a brief kiss before he hurried after Sherlock.

"So I'm assuming I shouldn't write this one up for the blog," John said cheekily when they were in the elevator on their way to the ground floor.

"Not this case, no," agreed Sherlock. "But one for the personal diary though," he continued in a sing-songy voice, "Dear Diary, today I made out with Aro..."

"Shut up," said John, but he grinned. "I am relieved you made it through that alive," he said when they were out of the elevator and making for the tall glass doors of the entrance.

"Yes," said Sherlock shortly. "Try not to get killed either."

"Lunch?" asked John.

"Dim-sum?" replied Sherlock, "there's a nice place around the corner and down two blocks and up a side-street."

"Sounds lovely," said John, and Sherlock smiled in spite of himself, inordinately pleased with his own performance on the case, and with the fact that, for now at least, John still belonged to him.

Aro watched them leave from his window with a thoughtful and speculative expression.

"Do you still see him agreeing to be turned?" he asked quietly.

"Which one?" said Alice, coming to stand next to him at the window.

"Both," said Aro.

"Yes, both will turn, I'm not sure how yet, but I still see them as vampires," said Alice, and slipped her arm through his, leaning up against his shoulder.

"Good." Aro continued to watch until the two men were out of sight, then he turned back into the room with a sigh.

"Aw," said Alice. "So cute."

"What is, daughter?"

"You are. Missing John Watson as soon as he leaves the room. Just ask him out to dinner for goodness sake."

That evening, while Sherlock was playing a new composition on his violin, John's mobile beeped and he took it out to see who had texted him.

"Got to go out for a bit, Sherlock," he said, jumping up and hurriedly struggling into his jacket.

Sherlock said nothing but kept on playing until John had run downstairs, then he stopped and watched at the window, keeping the curtains in front of him.

Outside 221B Baker's Street, John pulled the door shut behind him and stood on the steps looking down at Aro Volturi who waited for him on the sidewalk, gazing up at him hopefully.

Aro held out his hand and John came down the steps to take it without a second thought. They smiled warmly at each other, Aro's expression transcending into a little grin of near ecstasy. Then they walked off down Baker's Street, hand-in-hand, leaning in towards each other and not really caring where they were heading so long as they were together.

Sherlock watched them until they were out of sight and then took up his violin again and began to play. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective to immortals. Definitely not boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. There is a sequel, A Study in Death, in progress and I will be posting it here soon.


End file.
